


Spider Lilies

by Masterdramon



Category: Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Genre: Awkward Romance, Being Homura Is Suffering, Drama & Romance, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Mystery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2019-11-28 00:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 92,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18201062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterdramon/pseuds/Masterdramon
Summary: Ever since she transferred into class, Madoka Kaname has been curious about the raven-haired girl who seems to watch her like a hawk. Though they've grown to be close friends, she senses Homura is keeping something from her - something gnawing away at her friend like a disease. Madoka's determined to find out the truth...and a trip to her aunt's may be just the chance she needs.





	1. The Law of Averages

If there was one thing Madoka Kaname prided herself on, it was her perceptiveness.

It wasn’t like there was too much _else_ to be proud of, after all.  She wasn’t, she supposed, especially _bad_ at most things.  Her grades were fine.  Her social skills were fine.  Her athletic abilities, fine.

But she certainly didn’t _excel_ in any of those areas, either.  If there was one word that described her better than any other, it was “average.”  She wasn’t all that smart or good with people or skilled at sports.  She didn’t have any special talents or great, burning passions.  Appearance-wise, puberty was giving way to a face and body that were almost _exceedingly_ plain.

Not that Madoka resented these things; far from it.  She’d long since made her peace with the fact that she wasn’t ever going to amount to anything special.  _Most_ people didn’t, after all; it was simply the law of averages.

The _truly_ special wouldn’t stand out if there wasn’t a faceless crowd to contrast from.

Still, while her circle of friends was small – hooray for those distinctly mediocre social skills! – she liked to think she was pretty good at getting a read on everyone in it.

And right now, though she wasn’t saying anything out loud, Madoka _knew_ something was wrong with Homura Akemi.

Now _there_ was someone who proved Madoka’s mental image of “the truly special” existed beyond the realm of imagination.  Ever since she’d joined the class, Homura had proven herself an ace at everything she tried, solving complex equations and breaking records in gym class like it was nothing.

It didn’t hurt that she was indisputably gorgeous.  Her long, raven-colored hair was so smooth and silky it almost sparkled, and her body was the tone, lithe one of a dancer or gymnast.  Madoka had caught herself staring once or twice during P.E., simply because there was almost no _way_ a fourteen year-old should have curves like those.

Despite all this, Homura wasn’t really part of the “popular” crowd, but Madoka got the sense that was entirely by choice.  Certainly, she had admirers – male _and_ female.  But as poor Nakazawa-kun had learned just last week, she didn’t seem especially _interested_ in engaging with them.

Inexplicably, the one and only exception to that generalized apathy seemed to be Madoka herself.

Sure, they’d gotten off to a bit of a… _rocky_ start.  That conversation on the way to the nurse’s office had weirded Madoka out in ways she couldn’t quite articulate, especially since that was their _first_ meeting.

But in the time since, Homura hadn’t broached the subject again, seemingly content to pretend it’d never happened.  And Madoka was only too happy to oblige.

Because once she got past her cool and aloof exterior, Homura was…well, _amazing._   Not because of how smart she was, or how athletic, or how jaw-droppingly beautiful – true as all those were.

No, Homura was simply an incredible _person._   Hardworking, driven, and loyal.  Bold and courageous, but not in the slightest bit egotistical.  Clever and calm and collected, never tripping over her feet or her words the way Madoka always seemed to be.

More than anything else, she reminded the pink-haired girl of the dashing princes she’d read about in storybooks growing up, vanquishing dragons and rescuing damsels to be their brides.

Madoka flushed slightly as she realized what she’d just thought.

Regardless, despite the fact that they’d only known each other for a short time, Homura seemed _determined_ to be Madoka’s friend.  She’d never really had very many of those; just Sayaka, Hitomi, and Kyosuke growing up.  Things hadn’t really changed much in middle school, much as she’d secretly hoped they would.

But now, here was the coolest girl in the entire school – someone who could have their pick of friends from pretty much _any_ grade – who seemed to have eyes _only_ for her.

Every day, Homura was tagging along with her, going out for ice cream after school and spending their weekends at the Kaname residence, playing video games or watching her dad’s collection of old mecha shows.

Sometimes, they’d be with Sayaka and Hitomi, plus a transfer student from Kazamino City the Miki family had agreed to foster (Madoka felt guilty, as she kept forgetting the girl’s name).  But Sayaka and Homura seemed to share some kind of unspoken, unacknowledged antipathy, so those hangouts tended to end rather quickly.

So, increasingly, it’d been _just_ the two of them.  Walking to school, sitting together at lunch, calling and chatting and emailing so much her mom had sat her down last week for a frank discussion about the family data plan.

Speaking of which…

A chat notification popped up in the corner of Madoka’s laptop.  Glancing up at Saotome-sensei, who was currently embroiled in forcing Nakazawa-kun to conjugate the English verb “to cheat” into every conceivable tense, the pink-haired girl surreptitiously clicked the icon.

 

_SpiderLily: There are no words to describe how tired I am of seeing this.  
_

_Mado-nyan: u no she use 2 b WORSE, mom has storys_

_SpiderLily: Having your leg eaten by a bear is significantly worse than it getting just your foot.  That doesn’t make the latter any more tolerable._

 

Madoka forced herself to stifle a giggle.  Laptops during class were to be used solely for schoolwork, and while she knew she was hardly the only one flaunting that rule – she could see that Kazamino redhead’s screen from here, and recognized the MMO she was playing without the slightest hint of shame – it was probably best _not_ to draw attention to herself. 

Still, Madoka reflected with a small smile, even this tiniest bit of rule-breaking was something she wouldn’t have _dreamed_ of doing a month ago.  Homura had a rebellious spirit, one that seemed completely unconcerned with things like curfews or traffic laws, and the pink-haired girl couldn’t help but be swept up in it from time to time.

 

_Mado-nyan: wut u wanna do after scool  
_

_SpiderLily: Anything is fine with me.  As long as you’re happy._

 

Her smile dipped into an equally small frown.  She got that kind of answer a lot.

Despite how much more forceful and assertive a personality Homura was, she deferred to Madoka on practically _everything._   What to do, where to eat, which movie to see – Madoka’s preferences were her preferences, and Madoka’s decisions were _her_ decisions.

 

_Mado-nyan: that fig sk8ers back form russia, press thingy @ tempel  
_

_Mado-nyan: yuri some thing?_

_Mado-nyan: any way sayaka n hitomi were gonna tak a look_

_Mado-nyan: …_

_Mado-nyan: i mean we dont have 2 if u dont wanna_

_SpiderLily: Sure.  That sounds great._

 

Madoka stared at her screen, a bit stunned.  Somehow, in a series of texts, they’d managed to perfectly reproduce their typical speaking dynamic: Madoka blurting out a string of undignified rambling, constantly putting her foot in her mouth, and Homura kindly interjecting with the utmost grace.

 

_Mado-nyan: u sure??  i mean…i no u n sayaka dont realy, uh  
_

_SpiderLily: I have no feelings one way or the other regarding Sayaka Miki.  Her animosity toward me is her problem.  But if going with her to this event will make you happy, then there’s nothing I’d rather do tonight._

_Mado-nyan: :)_

_Mado-nyan: youre the best homuchan_

_SpiderLily: …Homuchan?_

_Mado-nyan: o sorry!!!!  do u not like it?  thought itd b a fun way 2 shorten it but i gess its petty stupid…_

_SpiderLily: No, no…I love it.  Thank you, Madoka._

_SpiderLily: At least you’ve finally gotten used to using my first name.  Or…part of it._

That’d been an awkward adjustment.  Even with a tomboy like Sayaka as her best friend, Madoka had _never_ so quickly gotten onto first-name terms with another girl.  But Homura had insisted, and Madoka was no better at saying “no” to the brunette than vice-versa.

Still, it was a pretty good symbol of their friendship.  New and strange and moving so quickly…

But Madoka wouldn’t give it up for the world.

Which was why she _needed_ to bring this up.

 

_Mado-nyan: so…_

_Mado-nyan: uh_

_SpiderLily: Yes?_

_Mado-nyan: it…um_

_Mado-nyan: it kinda feels liek_

_Mado-nyan: is anyting wrong homuchan??_

_Mado-nyan: if sum things bothring u_

_Mado-nyan: u can allways tell me_

Homura took several minutes to craft her next response, Madoka watching on as the message “SpiderLily is typing a reply…” repeatedly appeared and disappeared across her screen.  Meaning the other girl was deleting and then rewriting her words over and over.

Finally, however…

 

_SpiderLily: It’s nothing, really.  If anything, perhaps I simply haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.  Proficiency tests are coming up, after all.  
_

_SpiderLily: Thank you for your concern, Madoka.  But you don’t need to worry about me.  Let’s just have a nice evening out._

 

Madoka stared at her screen, a little stunned.  She wished she could believe the words in front of her; that she’d been mistaken all along, blowing things out of proportion.

But she didn’t.

It might not have stuck out to most people, given the sheer poise and grace with which the raven-haired girl carried herself.  But there was something else, something unreadable, in the smallest of her actions – a glance to the side here, a wistful sigh there.  Something was weighing on her mind, and Madoka very much doubted it had the slightest to do with today’s lesson.

Maybe it wasn’t her business to pry.  Honestly, it _really_ wasn’t.  If Homura didn’t want to talk about it, then pushing wasn’t going to do any good.

Still, it struck Madoka in that moment just how little she really _knew_ of the other girl’s life.  Had she always lived in Japan?  Was she an only child, or did she have any brothers or sisters?  What did her parents do for a living?

On that subject, while Homura had been to her house and met her mom and dad numerous times now, the reverse was _never_ the case.  Was there a reason for that?  Something she didn’t want Madoka to see?

Maybe…

“Miss Kaname!” shouted Kazuko Saotome, causing Madoka to jump about ten meters out of her skin.

“Oh, uh…um…sorry!” she stammered out.  “I…err, I was…”

Her English teacher bent her pointer and let out a long sigh.  “Honestly, I expect more from you, Miss Kaname.  Please pay more attention next time,” she said.  “I’ll repeat the question.  What is the proper use of the subjunctive mood?”

But as Madoka wracked half her brain to recall last week’s lecture on the subject, the other half was far more focused on the long black tresses that flowed down a chair three rows ahead.

And what secrets might possibly lie beneath them.

 

[--------------------]

 

“This was… _not_ how I expected this was gonna go,” declared Sayaka Miki, tilting her head to the side as if it might make the scene before them look a little different.

Her classmate threw an arm around her shoulder and grinned, causing the Rocky stick between her teeth to twitch slightly.

“Then ya haven’t been payin’ much attention, have ya?” responded Kyoko Sakura, a playful bite to her tone.  “I mean, didja _see_ how Viktor reacted when the piggy took silver in China?”

Sayaka flushed, and mumbled out, “Well…yeah…but that’s a bit different than…umm…”

Her azure eyes drifted back to the sight of the homegrown champion figure skater, whose triumphant homecoming they’d all come to watch, passionately making out with his Russian coach.

A shocked gasp made itself heard amidst the din of flashing cameras and shouted questions from reporters.  Hitomi Shizuki grasped her cheeks and said, scandalized, “This isn’t right!  This is forbidden love!  Boys can’t love boys!  _Boys can’t love boys!_ ”

“Ah, shove it.  And get yer ass outta the closet while yer at it.  Any girl who can’t get ‘er rocks off at _that_ display doesn’t have a straight bone in ‘er body,” Kyoko cut in.  Her tongue flicked out and ran itself slowly across her protruding fang.  “Me?  Bi an’ proud, sister.  An’ _lovin’_ the show.”

Hitomi didn’t have an answer for that, merely covering her mouth with trembling fingers and trying to focus on absolutely anything _but_ the gloriously public display of affection.

Sayaka _also_ didn’t look entirely together, but not for reasons related to the newly out couple at all.  The slow, sensual movement of Kyoko’s tongue had…err…

Well, it’d been… _difficult_ to look away from.

“I never would’ve guessed you follow professional figure skating, Kyoko Sakura,” spoke a near-toneless voice from behind.

All three girls’ heads turned, and Sayaka felt her mood sour so quickly it was almost audible.

If pressed, the blue-haired girl would’ve had trouble articulating precisely _why_ she so disliked Homura Akemi.  While she was hardly what one would call “sociable,” Homura had been nothing but cordial in their interactions, if terse and a bit aloof.

But there was just something about her that _gnawed_ at Sayaka, somewhere deep down in her gut.  Something that told her she _couldn’t_ be trusted.

Of course, it was entirely possible that said “something” was just garden-variety jealousy.  Sayaka was loath to admit it, but that was probably likelier than any other explanation.

After all, it was all but impossible these days for her to see her childhood best friend without Homura hanging on in tow – like a creeping vine stubbornly clinging to a tree.

Case in point…

“Oh, wow!  That’s so cool!” said Madoka, clasping her hands and beaming as she gazed upon the history-making couple.  Like always, she looked and sounded as if she’d walked off the cover of a pop idol album.  “I heard the rumors on the internet, but I’m so happy for them!”

“I can certainly appreciate their candor, if nothing else,” Homura added, taking up position a bit closer to the pink-haired girl than Sayaka would’ve preferred.

“Yeah, it’s a good time ta be a member of the rainbow community,” Kyoko piped up, for some reason deciding to casually rest her elbow on Sayaka’s shoulder as she did.  “Ya hear ‘bout the CEO of that big tech company?  Uh…future, somethin’ or other?  Anyway, her girl’s an MMA fighter, if ya can believe it.  Getting’ married next week, whole big shebang.  Damn…wish it was legal here.”

“Japan is a culturally conservative nation.  I’ve no doubt that point will be reached in time, but I don’t foresee it in the near future.  America and Europe have better shots,” replied Homura, without the slightest hint of emotion.  Her eyes narrowed shrewdly at the glittering engagement ring the Russian was now proudly showing off to a young fan.  “Still, I don’t envy _his_ position.”

“Is Russia really that, umm…?” asked Madoka, honestly curious.

“Under the regime of Vladimir Putin, persecution of people with ‘non-traditional’ sexualities has drastically sharpened,” said Hitomi.  She was still flushing furiously, but apparently hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to flex her knowledge of social studies.  “This press conference will likely lead to Viktor losing the support of his home government.”

“Sympathy’s rich, comin’ from the group’s resident homophobe,” Kyoko interjected, though whether she was serious, joking, or both wasn’t clear.

Either way, Hitomi’s cheeks reddened further.

“So, little miss purple-eyes…” the redhead switched gears, swallowing her Rocky and pulling out a fresh stick as she did.  “That’s about ten times the number of words I’ve heard outta ya, like… _ever._   Guess it’s personal for ya?  Battin’ for the spaghetti team too, or what?”

“Sp…Spaghetti…?” repeated Sayaka, unable to resist asking.

Kyoko’s cheeky grin grew ear to ear.  “Well, spaghetti starts out straight…” she whispered, with a suggestive wink.  “Until ya get it hot an’ wet.”

Sayaka grimaced.  Madoka’s cheeks blushed a deep crimson.  Hitomi all but dived under a nearby park bench.

Homura, on the other hand, just stared back at the redhead with distinct disinterest.  “My personal life is my business,” she said, and left it at that.

“Umm…so, anyway…” mumbled Madoka after a few moments, dragging her toes awkwardly along the ground.  “How is everyone doing?  Uh…ready for proficiency tests next week?”

It wasn’t a great segue, but Sayaka took it.

“Well, y’know, I kinda…didn’t do so hot on midterms,” she told her old friend, her mouth twisting into a strangled grimace.  “The language stuff I think I’m okay on, but I tanked the math portion.  Gotta get some studying in this weekend if I wanna bring that average up, right?”

Kyoko grinned again and scratched the back of her head.  “Hey, better than me!” she exclaimed, chuckling.  “I _slept_ through half of mine!”

The blue-haired girl gritted her teeth and whacked her housemate lightly across the shoulder.

“That’s because you stayed up all night binging some stupid shōnen show!” she lectured the other girl.  “You’re never gonna get anywhere if you don’t start applying yourself, Kyoko!”

“Geez, _mom,_ haven’t yer feet outgrown those goody-two-shoes yet?” said Kyoko, dodging Sayaka’s next reprimanding strike with a whoop of laughter.  “Besides, ya coulda solved all this by lettin’ me copy off yer homework!  Then I wouldn’t _need_ the stupid tests so much!”

“ _Urrrrrrrgh_ …you’re impossible!” Sayaka cried out, giving chase after the gleeful redhead with a shaking fist.

Hitomi sighed preemptively as they somehow, inevitably, began running a ring around her.

The recently arrived pair, meanwhile, looked upon this sight with a mixture of bemusement and exasperation.

“Remind me why we’re out here, again?” Homura asked her friend, mutedly.

Madoka gave a small smile.  “I know they can be a bit, uh… _high strung._   Especially that new girl,” she stated in a low voice.  “But they’re all really nice people.  You should give them more of a chance, Homura-chan.”

The brunette turned back to the trio, and gave them an appraising look.  One hand drifted absently to her left ear.

“Then I will,” she said, without looking at her.  “If it makes you happy.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Eventually, as the crowd of fans and journalists dispersed, so too did their small second-year group.

Hitomi had tea ceremony class to get to, and Sayaka’s parents held both their biological daughter and their fosterling to a very strict curfew.  Kyoko very often didn’t _follow_ that curfew, mind, but she at least played lip service to it.

Most of the time.

Which left the original pair to walk home together – something that suited Madoka just fine.  It was an ideal chance to observe Homura more closely, and see if any other suspicious signs revealed themselves.

And _boy,_ did they.

Now that Madoka was actively looking for it, she wasn’t sure how she’d missed how _differently_ Homura walked, compared to most girls.  It was as if she was constantly on edge, craning her head minutely with each step.  It was subtle, flowing perfectly into the natural movements of her body, but she was definitely keeping both eyes on their surroundings at all times.

She also noticed the brunette had positioned herself a step in front, and to her right – forming a barrier between Madoka and the cars passing by.  Maybe _that_ one wasn’t intentional, but honestly Madoka just couldn’t be sure.

If it _was,_ though, it was kind of sweet.

To try and help the other girl relax a bit, Madoka reached out and clutched her hand.  Immediately, Homura went stiff as a board, and her pace slowed half a step.

Madoka frowned.  That’d been the _opposite_ of what she was going for.

But when she tried to pull away, she found the grip around her hand only tightened.

“You’re so kind to me, Madoka,” she said, staring off into the distance.  Her next words were whispered quietly, absently.  “I don’t deserve it.”

Her frown deepened.  “What do you mean, Homura-chan?” she asked.

Homura’s breath hitched.  It seemed she hadn’t realized she’d said that out loud.

“I…I mean…” she muttered, not looking at the other girl.  “Look, Madoka.  I _wish_ you could understand.  But…”

“So there _is_ something going on!” Madoka interrupted her.  “Just _tell_ me, Homura-chan.  Whatever it is, I can take it.”

Homura swallowed, hard, and shimmers of emotion returned to her normally dim eyes.  It was as if she was watching a mask slide straight down her face.

“You have _no_ idea how much I want to.  Every time I see your face, how much I want to…” said Homura, not finishing her thought.  Slowly, her fingers slipped away from the pink-haired girl’s.  “But that’s selfish of me.  There’re things you’re better off not knowing.  _So_ many things…”

“Isn’t that _my_ choice to make?” demanded Madoka, an uncharacteristic surge of boldness flowing up from her gut.  “We’re _friends,_ Homura-chan.  We help each other.  Support each other.”

A long, rattling sigh escaped the other girl’s lips.

“Like I said…” she breathed, now clutching at her shoulders and looking askance.  “You’re _far_ too kind to me.”

Then, her head tilted to the other side, toward Madoka’s left.  “And we’re here,” she added, mouth barely moving.

Indeed, they’d arrived at the ultra-modernist wonder that was the Kaname residence.

Madoka briefly marveled at the way the setting sun was refracted by the spacious glass windows, then jolted as she realized Homura had already begun to leave.

“Homura-chan!” she called out to the long, flowing tresses that streamed behind her friend.

The brunette didn’t stop, but she did tilt her head to the side, so that her left eye could meet Madoka’s.

The pink-haired girl gulped down her nerves and, failing to come up with a better question, asked, “Wh…Where do you live?”

Homura blinked, slowly.  “You don’t really need to know,” she said.  “There’s no reason for you to go there.”

“Does that meant that…that whatever’s wrong…” murmured Madoka, unsure how to respond to that.  “It has to do with your family?  Your parents?”

“I haven’t had either of those for a very long time,” the brunette answered tonelessly.  “I grew up in a Christian orphanage.  These days, I live alone.”

Madoka’s breath caught in her throat.  Was _that_ what this was?  The distracted glances, the occasional moments of overprotectiveness?

Was Homura Akemi just… _lonely?_

“I told you, Madoka.  You don’t need to worry about me,” she continued on, turning away again as she maintained her pace.  “That’s simply the way things are.  You have better things to focus on.”

But as she watched her friend disappear over the horizon, Madoka found she couldn’t think of anything else.

 

[--------------------]

 

Dinner that night was spaghetti with meatballs, one of her papa’s specialties.

Of course, Madoka hadn’t been able to adequately explain why she went beet-red whenever she looked at the noodles.

Regardless, the pasta – with accompanying soup, salad, and some mochi ice cream for dessert – was absolutely delicious, every bit to the standards Tomohisa Kaname had always prided himself upon.  The sauce was homemade, from his very own signature cherry tomatoes, and the tangy sweetness of it practically made Madoka _melt._

“You know, these tomatoes are actually the reason I met your father in the first place,” said Junko Kaname, as she sat down and immediately plopped one from her salad into her mouth. 

She’d arrived home halfway through the meal, more than a little buzzed, but if there was one thing that was guaranteed to sober her up in an instant, it was her husband’s home cooking.

Madoka giggled.  “Yeah, I’ve heard the story once or twice,” she told her mother, vastly understating the point.  When her mother got _really_ drunk, it was either babbling rants about whichever misogynistic bigwig had denied her a promotion _this_ time…or it was the “Tomatoes” story.  “Say, is Wakō Garden still open?”

“Yep.  In fact, that’s where the lettuce in these salads came from.  We don’t really have room here to grow them properly,” explained Tomohisa.  “Mind, it’s changed a _lot_ over the years.  Now it’s one of those high-tech places where you order everything off an app.  I think Kouta’s even been looking into delivering produce with drones – you know, for people too old or sick to go out shopping themselves.”

“Really?  I know someone from that last account we closed who _develops_ commercial drones,” Junko replied, in between very undignified bites of pasta.  “Get me one of Kazuraba-kun’s current business cards, and I can set up a meeting.”

“Ka-zu- _kun!_   Ka-zu- _kun!_ ” Tatsuya yelped out giddily as he rocked around in his high chair, his mouth smeared with _far_ more tomato sauce than had actually made it into his stomach.

“Oh, Tatsuya…” sighed Junko with a shake of her head, picking up a napkin to clean up her son’s face.

She wobbled as she moved to get out of her chair, however, still a bit tipsy from her after-work “pick me up.”  Madoka gently grabbed the napkin from her and said, “Here mama, let me.”

As she attempted to wipe off her baby brother’s rosy cheeks, she added, “So how was work today?”

Junko let out a long, ugly sound that was somewhere in between a sigh, a groan, and a burp.  “Exhausting, as usual,” she mumbled.  “But I’ve actually got some good news, too.”

“Really?  Well, that’s unusual,” remarked Tomohisa with a smile.  He received a good-natured smack – or rather, a hand waved lazily in his general direction – for his trouble.

“Y’see, that account I mentioned…” Junko went on, her words irregularly slurring.  “It was the biggest in the company’s history.  And _I’m_ the gal who made it happen!  That’s right!  Junko Kaname, _represeeeeent…!_ ”

“Err, honey…” said Tomohisa, now looking a little concerned.

“ _Relaaaaax,_ I’m getting to the best part,” responded the purple-haired woman.  “See, they’re gonna have a big fancy conference about it in Paris.  And guess who scored two tickets, all expenses paid!”

“W…Wow…” her husband whispered in awe.  “That’s incredible, Junko!  But, err…when you say ‘two’ tickets…”

“I know it’s short notice, Tomo.  We’d leave on Monday and be gone for a week,” stated Junko, her eyes shimmering apologetically.  “But I really don’t wanna pass this up.  And there’s no one I’d rather go with than you.”

“You know I feel the same way.  I mean… _Paris!_   It’s the most romantic city in the world!  And the _food_ is…well…” he declared, his chef senses already practically salivating at the thought.  “But…I mean, we can’t just up and _leave_ like that.  Not for a whole week.  Who will watch the kids?”

“We could get a sitter,” Junko suggested.  “What’s Saltza-san up to these days?”

Tomohisa just shook his head.  “Hermann passed away last year,” he said with a sigh.  “Never really recovered after that nasty business in Kazamino a couple years back.  Poor guy got caught up with that weird cult.”

“I think I can look after Tatsuya,” their daughter piped up, showing off her brother’s freshly clean face in demonstration.  “I’d hate for you and papa to miss out on such a nice trip, just because of us.”

But now it was Junko’s turn to shake her head no.

“I’m sorry, Madoka, but I don’t think you’re ready for that,” she spoke seriously.  As usual, the responsibilities of motherhood were the one thing guaranteed to bring her “sober self” to the surface.  “It’d be one thing if you were on your own, or if the trip was shorter.  But this is a lot different than holding down the fort for one night so we can have a date.  Tatsuya’s only three, and…well…”

They all turned to gaze at the youngest member of the Kaname household, who responded back with the most angelic expression possible.

Then, with that very same cherubic face, he brought down both his knobby fists, and overturned his soup bowl all over the floor.

His father sighed.  “I’ll get it this time,” he said, going to the kitchen to get a rag.

“Hmmm…most of _my_ friends don’t live close enough for you to get to school every day,” Junko continued to muse, tapping a finger against her chin as she helped herself to some mochi.  “There’s Kazuko, of course, but I…don’t really recommend that.  Do you know if this is one of her ‘single’ periods?”

“She’s got a boyfriend right now.  But based on the short story she wants us to write for homework…” answered Madoka, sitting back down and grabbing some dessert as well.  “I have a feeling he just cheated on her with, and I quote, ‘some no-good green-haired hussy who only goes by her initials.’  The assignment was weirdly specific on that point.”

“Oh, just great.  _That’s_ gonna be a fun rant to sit through, next time we’re at the bar,” her mother groaned.  “She really is _just_ like the sister I never had.  Or wanted.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Tomohisa reentered the room, bent down, and began wiping up his son’s mess.  Then, a light flickered within her eyes.

“Say…” she muttered, turning her gaze toward her husband.  Or rather – and probably not coincidentally – his well-angled posterior.  “What about _your_ sister?  I haven’t seen Akane-chan in ages.”

“She and her partner just bought a place on the other side of town.  I _guess_ it’s close enough to the middle school, if Madoka’s willing to take the bus,” said Tomohisa, as he gingerly carried the now soup-soaked rag back to the kitchen.  “Not sure either of them has experience with kids, though.”

“They should be fine.  I mean, they’re both cops, right?” asked his wife, to which Tomohisa nodded as he passed.  “Though that might be a strike against them, if the schedules don’t line up…”

“Actually, the timing works out pretty well.  They’re both on paid time off until the end of the month,” he told her, taking out his phone and opening his email.  “Something about a corruption conviction in their unit, looks like.  They’re pretty sure everyone else is clean, but the whole division is on leave until they complete the investigation.”

“Well then, I don’t think it’d hurt to ask,” replied Junko.  “Worst that can happen is she says no, and we’re back where we started.”

“Alright, I’ll give her a call.  Madoka, would you mind doing the dishes while I take care of this?” said Tomohisa, before going into Junko’s office and dialing the number.

“Of course, papa!” the teenager exclaimed brightly.  There was nothing she loved better than feeling useful to others…especially after such a magnificent meal.

She really needed to be more grateful to her father.  He did so much for her – for _all_ of them – while asking for so little in return.

Madoka resolved to tell him that once he returned from this incredible-sounding vacation.  And to tell her mother the same, of course.

She really was _so_ fortunate to live with a family like this.  Not everyone was so lucky.

And with that thought, the smile fell away from her face.

Madoka stood in front of the sink for several minutes, her body on autopilot as it soaked one dish after another in soapy water, her mind whirring with activity.  Eventually, however, she was joined by another, who just as automatically began drying the finished plates and bowls.

“Sorry to leave you alone with this.  Had to go throw up half the meal,” said Junko.  “Which isn’t a commentary on your father’s cooking, by the way!  I may just have had…err…a couple too many after work.  And by ‘a couple’ I mean six or seven.”

The pink-haired girl released a short, sympathetic chuckle.  It’s not like she wasn’t used to this by now.

Her mouth soon returned to its earlier expression, however, and her mother immediately picked up on it.  “What’s the matter?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Madoka wasn’t entirely sure what to say in response – but also knew she wasn’t going to be able to avoid saying _something._   She wasn’t _nearly_ as skilled at dodging these questions as Homura was.

But what _should_ she say?  Her mom and dad had both met Homura, several times over, and the brunette had been _nothing_ but gracious and polite on every occasion.  Was it really Madoka’s place to potentially mar that image with what she knew, or suspected, about Homura’s home life?

Or was _that_ even necessary?  She was getting so bogged down with the problem that she’d forgotten to try thinking of a solution.  _That_ was one of Junko’s favorite lessons for her daughter.

Every new development had to be seen as an opportunity, her mother was fond of saying.  That was how you got ahead in business, ahead with people – and ahead in life.

A look of determination settled on Madoka Kaname’s face.  She knew now what she needed to do.

“Mama, assuming Auntie Akane says yes…” she said, handing over the final rinsed-off dish.  “Do you think it’d be okay if I brought along a friend?”


	2. A Quiet Refuge

Mami Tomoe sipped tea calmly, smiling as she watched a little girl toddle about her otherwise empty apartment.

She’d first met the child, who said her name was Nagisa, in the waiting room of Mitakihara General Hospital.  And that was more or less the grand total of _everything_ she knew about the girl.

Her family name, age, living situation – even the reason why she’d _been_ in that hospital in the first place – were all still a mystery to the blonde.  All she knew was that Nagisa had wanted to leave there very badly.

For most people, that wouldn’t have been enough to invite a stranger to stay in their home.  But several weeks on, there wasn’t a single day Mami had ever regretted it.

“How about I fix us up some cake to go with this tea?” she asked kindly, as the girl seemed to grow tired of playing, and settled down into a comfy chair.  “What kind would you like today, Nagisa-chan?”

She knew the answer before she even asked the question.

“Cheesecake!” said Nagisa, with a squeal of excitement.  “Um…I mean, if that’s not too much trouble…”

“No, I think I’ve still got a few slices left in the fridge.  Let me just get it ready and do the topping,” replied Mami, her smile broadening.  “I picked up some fresh strawberries from that produce store you love so much.”

“Thank you, Mami-san!” Nagisa exclaimed cheerfully, and the older girl’s heart practically melted.

She’d felt so alone, for so long, that Mami found the child’s energy and positivity almost _literally_ life-saving.  It didn’t matter that Nagisa was a remarkably substantial drain on her reserves of cash and food – she had plenty of both.

Because when the girl smiled back at her out of gratitude, it was worth every last yen her parents had ever left her.

It’d been three years since the accident, and in that time discovering Nagisa was about the only bright spot in her entire, lonely existence.  Her mother, an influential senator, and her father, a businessman from Italy, had only been the first people she’d been forced to lose.

Unfortunately, they’d been far from the last.

But still, she hadn’t lost hope.  She’d found ways to give her life purpose, no matter how bleak it seemed; one in particular, of course.

And now, she had another.

As she busied herself with the cake, one eye on the other girl at all times, Mami began humming a gentle tune, perfectly at peace with herself.

 

[--------------------]

 

Homura Akemi was reading quietly when she received the email.

In the earliest time flows, when things had seemed less dire, manga had been a quiet refuge for her.  A way to get lost in the adventures of heroes and heroines who never died; who never failed; whose romantic hijinks always turned out fine in the end.  Gag manga, in particular, was a guilty pleasure of hers – a fact she was sure would shock most of the other girls who knew her.

But as timeline upon timeline piled up, and the need to squeeze the absolute most out of the fifty-two days her shield allotted her became more acute, extraneous things feel by the wayside.  And nothing was more extraneous than “fun.”

Still – as she constantly had to remind herself – she was trying something _different,_ now.  She’d spent so many time flows distancing herself from Madoka, fighting tooth and nail to protect the pink-haired girl from her own self-sacrificing nature, that it felt distinctly _strange_ to simply “hang out” with her, going out for snacks or playing _Mario Kart._

And yet, there were few things she could imagine she’d rather _be_ doing.  After all those repeated months, relying on no one but herself, she couldn’t deny the part of her that fervently wished (oh, not that word, _never_ that word) to just spend a bit of time at the side of her one and only friend.

With the power she had…what was the harm, _really?_

Which brought her to where she was now, flipping through a worn _tankōbon_ volume with dog-eared pages.  Madoka had recommended this title, an old favorite of her father’s, and it was immediately obvious why.

The character designs were so cute as to be almost sickeningly saccharine; the plots simple and straightforward.  It matched well with what she knew – from _ample_ experience – to be Madoka’s tastes.

That being said, Homura also couldn’t help but notice the all-girl main cast were all rather… _close_ to one another.  Rubbing cheeks, holding hands, cupping each other’s chests to compare sizes…

Was…Was this…?

Homura flipped the book around to look at the publisher info on the back cover.  Yep…a now-defunct _yuri_ press line.

Tomohisa Kaname was an adult bisexual – she knew that from a previous timeline, when she’d gotten it into her head that essentially _stalking_ Madoka’s parents might help keep her safe – so it was probable he understood the implications of all the subtext here.

But did his daughter?  Did Madoka… _like_ this kind of stuff?

Remarkably, out of countless time flows, learning absolutely everything there was to know about Madoka Kaname, the girl’s orientation had never been one of them.  It wasn’t like it was an easy question to just come up and ask someone – especially since each fresh loop made her a stranger to Madoka once more.

Apart from that, though…she may’ve simply been _afraid_ of the answer.  She knew what she felt for Madoka.  She knew it vastly eclipsed anything resembling “friendship.”

But she’d never known – never been able to stomach _asking_ – if those feelings were, or even _could be,_ returned.  As long as the question went unspoken, and as long as nothing else changed in either of their lives (Madoka certainly hadn’t shown interest in anyone _else_ “that way,” guy or girl), she could anchor her ship in the murky waters of ambiguity.

Knowing for sure meant the possibility of knowing the answer wasn’t the one she wanted.

It wasn’t like she felt _entitled_ to “have” Madoka, of course.  Nor did she really expect it.  Even if Madoka _was_ a fellow queer girl, there were a hundred young women better-suited for her, just at their school alone.

Sayaka Miki, for example, was unquestionably bi – whether or not she realized it yet.  And the two had known each other since they were pint-sized.  Their relationship reaching the next level was hardly impossible to fathom.

Assuming, of course, that this wasn’t one of the dozen-odd time flows in which she and Kyoko Sakura wound up going at it like rabbits.

The point was, Madoka deserved better than who she was now; than _what_ she was now.  Better than the cold, aloof loner who didn’t trust her to make her own decisions.  Better than the warrior who’d spent so long fighting for her love, that sometimes…

It was hard to remember just _why_ she’d fallen for her in the first place.

But those doubts never lasted.  She’d see Madoka smile, or laugh, or offer a helping hand to someone in trouble.  And she’d remember.

Remember why these feelings would _never_ die.

Still, though she was making a concerted effort now to be someone that Madoka could, and _would,_ freely trust, it never really “felt” quite right.  Like her role as “Madoka’s cool new bestie” was nothing but an ill-fitting costume.  Maybe she could’ve slipped into it better during one of the earliest time flows, but now…

Even as she read this silly _yuri_ manga, half her concentration was devoted to her surroundings, watching for threats she _knew_ would not come.  Those habits were hard to shake.  Perhaps impossible.

But for Madoka’s sake…

For Madoka’s sake, she _would_ try.

That’s when the email arrived on her phone.

Marking her place in the manga, Homura put it down and flipped open the device.  The peppy, upbeat ringtone and pink notification message told her who was calling long before she opened her inbox.

Mind, given that Madoka was the _only_ person with her email address, that was perhaps already a given.

The included message was in far better shape, grammar and spelling-wise, than her texts in class – probably because it was in kanji.  The chat software on their school laptops defaulted to English, and regardless of the time flow, English was _always_ Madoka’s worst subject.

Homura pursed her lips as she quickly read through it.

 

_Dear Homura-chan,_

 

_Great news!  My parents are going on vacation to Paris, thanks to one of mama’s work things._

_But they don’t want to leave Tatsuya and me home alone, so we’re gonna stay with my aunties for the week.  They’ve got this really big, old-fashioned place on the edge of the city._

_I know it’s sort of last minute…but I was wondering if you maybe wanted to join us?  Auntie Akane said it was alright, and I think it could be super-fun!_

_It’s alright if you have other plans, but I really hope you can.  Send me back your reply by tomorrow, okay?  Just so we can give them a head’s up._

_Hope to see you soon! :)_

 

_Sincerely,_

_Madoka_

 

The brunette blinked several times, to make sure she’d read the message correctly.

In all these countless timelines, this was something _utterly_ without precedent.  There’d been the occasional day trips, early on, before the deaths of Mami Tomoe or Sayaka Miki inevitably cut short any desire for frivolity – to the beach, or a festival.

But Madoka had never, in effect…asked Homura to go on _vacation_ with her.  To sleep under the same roof, eat the same food, just the two of them and Tatsuya.

For a whole _week_ …

There was a tightness in her chest that had nothing to do with the heart condition she’d once been beset with, literally a lifetime ago.  Homura didn’t have words for what she was feeling now; couldn’t _begin_ to parse it.

This was the sort of thing she’d _dreamed_ of, in those twilight moments when the walls she’d stubbornly build around herself began to crumble, and she allowed herself to _feel._   The sort of thing she knew, that she _accepted,_ would always be out of her reach.

Deep down, she wasn’t nearly as cold or rational as she projected herself to be.  But she _tried,_ dammit, she _tried._   And that meant she was willing to face facts.

The time flows when she got closest to Madoka, when she told her _everything_ – or just about – were always, invariably, the ones in which the pink-haired girl suffered most.  Distance kept Madoka ignorant.

Distance kept Madoka _safe._

Yet now, after making all the decisions she _knew_ were wrong… _now_ was the time when the universe saw fit to reward her?

Could she – _should_ she – accept this kindness?  Was it fair?  Did that _matter?_

Perhaps… _Perhaps,_ she could avoid the question entirely.  Because that same cold rationality had been feigned so long that it was all but her default.  And from _that_ perspective, this was no choice at all.

Madoka would be at a significant distance for a full week, and in a relatively unfamiliar environment to boot.  She’d be _incredibly_ vulnerable.  The perfect target for…

Homura’s eyes suddenly shot toward a section of her vast white walls – and to the window she knew lay behind the holographic display.

In the alleyway behind her home, something small darted out of sight.

Her lips pursed in a deep frown, Homura’s fingers began typing a reply, though her eyes neither blinked nor moved from their current position.

 

_My Dearest Madoka,_

_I’ll be there.  You can count on it._

_-Homura_

[--------------------]

 

“God, when’ll they put somethin’ _good_ on?” complained Kyoko Sakura, sagging across the couch as she aimlessly flipped through channels.  “All the late-night anime these days is crappy light novels an’ harem shit.”

“Maybe that’s a sign you’re spending too much time watching TV,” Sayaka Miki said crossly, snatching up the remote and putting the sound of an extremely strange commercial on mute.  “Besides, that one you showed me last week was pretty good.  With all those people on wires and the naked baby things?”

“Howzit ya get twice the grades I do, an’ _still_ can’t remember a three-word title?” teased Kyoko, with a shake of her head.

In response, Sayaka simply blew her a raspberry.  The redhead matched her in kind – a rather more impressive fear, considering she managed to keep a stick of Rocky perfectly balanced across her tongue the whole while.

That was the nice thing about living with another chick, Kyoko reflected idly.  She and Sayaka both knew just which buttons to press to get a rise out of the other, and while they _usually_ didn’t mean anything by it, the constant banter kept things exciting.

It’d been a while since she’d had…well, _anyone_ to bounce off like that.  Not since…

Kyoko shook her head violently.  No.  _No._   She _didn’t_ think about that stuff these days.

Besides…thinking about how much Sayaka sometimes reminded her of Momo only made some of her _other_ thoughts significantly weirder.

The blue-haired girl was a lot less self-assured than her in…well, a _lot_ of ways, actually.  But _definitely_ in terms of sexuality.  She was certainly in love with that dumbass boy in the hospital (Kyonusei?  Something like that…), but her dreams in that regard were so chaste Kyoko wasn’t sure she even _knew_ what a dick was.

Honestly, if you couldn’t even make it past first base in your _fantasies,_ then there really wasn’t any hope for you.

Not that Sayaka _knew_ she was aware of her silly schoolgirl crush, of course.  But if she wanted to keep a journal on her computer, then it was her own damn fault for picking such a shitty password.

In any event, while Kyoko wasn’t entirely certain if the blue-haired girl was man-only or swung both ways, she _definitely_ knew in her own case.  And she wasn’t ashamed of it.  Why should she be?

Sure, she was still a virgin, but she _knew_ what she liked, and Sayaka was…well.

Maybe it was the pixie-blue bob haircut.  Or the neatly toned body the girl pretty much _never_ showed off, much as she clearly could.  Or her brash, tomboyish personality, always spoiling to run off fighting some noble crusade.

Either way, she’d been attracted to Sayaka from the very first day they met.

Of course, those weren’t really things she was “supposed” to think about right now.  The Miki family had graciously taken her in off the streets, and for all intents and purposes Sayaka essentially _was_ now her sister.  Certainly, that was how Sayaka seemed to treat her, for good and for ill.

Which Kyoko was fine with.  Most of the time.

(She was still gonna keep peeking at her diary, though.)

“Hey, Kyoko!  Earth to Kyoko!” interjected the other girl, waving her hand in front of Kyoko’s face.  “C’mon, I asked you a question!”

“Oh!  Uh…sorry.  Kinda spaced out there,” she said, her lip curling underneath her fang.  “Yer gonna have ta hit rewind a couple times.”

Sayaka sighed.  “God, you’re hopeless,” was her muttered response.  “Okay, let’s try this again.  What…err…what do you think of that Homura girl?”

Kyoko arched an eyebrow.  That wasn’t what she’d been expecting at _all._

“Any particular reason?” she asked, her tone defaulting to mock-taunting in lieu of knowing how _else_ to react.  “She get yer motor runnin’ earlier today?  Y’know, I _always_ had a feelin’ about her…”

“ _N…N…N…No!_   It’s nothing like that!” stammered Sayaka, suddenly red as an apple.  “Cut it out with that kinda talk, this is serious!  It’s…well, it’s just…”

Of course, Kyoko had _no_ intention of “cutting out” with all the gay jokes and innuendo.  For one thing, they were fun as hell.  But for another…

Well, it couldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the blue-haired girl’s reactions.

Still…on closer inspection, the emotion in those azure eyes looked _remarkably_ deep.  Not anything Kyoko’s pointedly lacking social skills were capable of deciphering.  But genuine.

So for her sake, the redhead momentarily stowed her mirth.

“Look.  I dunno that much about your childhood or where you came from, but let me tell you a bit about mine,” said Sayaka.  “When I was a kid, I had three really good friends.  There was Hitomi, the pretty rich girl, who was always so perfect it honestly kinda made me jealous.  And there was Kyosuke, the prodigy, who was wowing audiences with his music when I was still learning how to read.”

Kyoko didn’t miss the sharp flush that fell across her face at the mention of hospital-boy.  Yup, she had it _bad._

“But then there was my best friend in the whole wide world.  This scared, timid, _ridiculously_ kind girl with a face like a doll’s,” she continued on.  “Madoka was…well, she always felt like she _needed_ saving, y’know?  Someone to protect her, from bullies or rowdy dogs or whatever.  And in elementary school, that was me.”

“What’s this gotta do with Akemi?” asked Kyoko, though she was starting to get something of an idea.

“I’m _used_ to being her protector, is my point.  Her knight in shining armor.  I dunno if I ever really grew out of that,” Sayaka answered quietly.  “And my ‘knight senses’ have been going _haywire_ around Homura Akemi.  They’ve only known each other for… _what?_   A few weeks?  And now I barely even _see_ Madoka without her clinging on!”

“How come, though?” Kyoko spoke through a mouthful of Rocky; she’d finally given up on sucking and was now chewing the poor stick to dust.  “I mean, she’s Lil’ Miss Weirdsville, don’t get me wrong.  But so is half yer crazy school.  God, those ‘Hero Club’ chicks…”

“I…well, um…” murmured Sayaka, wringing her hands and sighing again.  “I can’t really _explain_ it, okay?  It’s just a feeling I get whenever I’m near her.  Like she’s hiding something.  Like she’s _planning_ something.”

“Exhibit A through Z in that whole ‘Weirdsville’ thing,” said Kyoko, extending both pointer fingers toward the other girl.  “Seriously, yer just bein’ paranoid.  What, ya think she’s gonna lure Pinkie inta her van with some candy?”

Sayaka’s jaw dropped so low she practically dislocated it, and the redhead hastily added, “Okay…too far, even fer me.  But seriously, she’s probably jus’ crap at makin’ friends.  Don’t take this the wrong way, ‘cuz it’s a compliment…but Kaname’s pretty much Easy Mode fer that.  Hell, she’s so sweet _I’m_ practically fallin’ fer it, an’ I barf when I have ta use two honorifics in the same sentence.”

“Maybe…” Sayaka breathed out, though she didn’t sound convinced.  “But I _saw_ how she reacted.  The _moment_ she transferred in, she made a beeline for Madoka.  Like she _knew_ her.  Like she _knew_ what kind of person Madoka is.  The type who couldn’t turn someone away if they were holding a hatchet dripping blood.”

“Ugh.  _Now_ who’s gettin’ creepy?” responded the redhead, making a face.  “Anyway, if yer _really_ that concerned she’s tryin’ ta prey on Kaname in some way, or…or takin’ advantage of her, or somethin’…”

“…What am I gonna do about it?” Sayaka finished for her.  “Good question.  Wish I knew the answer.  You’re right about one thing: if I just walk up to Madoka and tell her this, she’ll think I’m a total psycho.  I need some solid proof before I make my move.”

“Well, well.  Looks who’s suddenly Miss Sayichi Kudo,” said Kyoko, causing the blue-haired girl to roll her eyes at the lame pun.  “I mean, let’s say ya got it right.  What does it change?  Kaname’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions.  Even if they’re shitty ones.”

Sayaka’s body went rigid, and she bit her lip; apparently, she didn’t have a good answer for that one.

Eventually, however, she just mumbled, “She’s…my friend, okay?  I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

Kyoko didn’t say anything either, instead studying the worried lines of the other girl’s face.  Then, abruptly, she stood up, walked over to the kitchen, and began pulling out some pots and pans.

“What’re you doing?” asked Sayaka.

“Whatzit look like?  Makin’ dinner,” the redhead called back, thumbing her way through the Miki family’s collection of spices.  “Ya good with curry?”

Still utterly wrong-footed, Sayaka managed to stammer out, “W…Why’re you…?”

But Kyoko just poked her head back out of the kitchen area, and locked eyes with her roommate, fiery red on cool blue.

“Same reason yer goin’ up ta bat fer Kaname, ain’t it?” she said, a knife and onion in hand.  “Yer not the only one with a friend ya don’t wanna lose.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Madoka had been so excited the night before the trip that she’d barely managed three hours of sleep.

Nevertheless, she woke up that Saturday morning practically _bursting_ with energy.  It wasn’t an unusual feeling for her.  She’d realized early in life that she didn’t have the skills or talent to make much of herself, and resolved instead to be as bright and positive as possible, so that she’d leave every person she met with a smile on their face.

If she could help encourage even one person to achieve _their_ dream, then that’d be worth it to her.

She’d already bathed the previous night, but after a moment of deliberation Madoka decided a quick shower couldn’t hurt.  She hadn’t seen her aunts in nearly a year, and she wanted to make sure she was at her best.

And her bedhead _really_ didn’t disappear without copious amounts of water.

Upon reaching the bathroom, she found that it was already occupied – but as the avant-garde chamber was larger than some people’s entire _apartments,_ she went right in anyway.

“Morning, Madoka,” spoke her mother, without looking away from the mirror as she studiously applied her makeup.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Um…not really,” said Madoka, smiling bashfully.  “But I’m okay.  How about you?  You were, err…drinking pretty hard last night.”

“I’ve got a thirteen-hour flight to sleep it off.  I think I can manage,” was Junko’s offhanded reply.  “And if not, that’s why God invented ibuprofen.”

Madoka didn’t bother suppressing a giggle.  She loved her mom so much.

As she pulled off her pajamas and turned on the water, the purple-haired woman called out again, a tinge of concern in her voice, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay with this, Madoka?  Akane-chan hasn’t babysat you since you were six.  It’ll be an adjustment for everyone.”

“Don’t worry, mama,” she assured her brightly.  “Me and Tatsuya will be fine.  Besides, we’ll have Homura-chan with us.  She’s super responsible and mature.”

“About that…” continued the businesswoman, now obscured behind a curtain and the rising mist of hot water.  “You know, I quite like Akemi-chan.  Every time she’s come over here, she’s impressed me with her grace and politeness.  But…”

“But…what?” asked Madoka, cocking her head to the side as she lathered up some shampoo.

“But don’t you think this might be moving a little… _fast?_ ” said Junko.  “You’ll be spending a lot of time alone together.  The way I hear it, your aunts only have two spare rooms – and I expect Tatsuya will want one to himself.  He’s young…but not _so_ young I think he’ll be thrilled at rooming with his fourteen-year-old sister.”

“I…still don’t think I get what you mean, mama,” responded Madoka.

The older woman sighed heavily.  “Then I suppose you’re a very different girl than I was at your age,” she murmured.  “Which…is probably a good thing, all in all.  Just so long as you’re careful.”

Truthfully, Madoka still didn’t have a _clue_ what her mother was getting at, but she nodded all the same.  Then, realizing they couldn’t see each other, she quickly added, “I…I’ll be careful.”

Junko went silent for the next few minutes, as Madoka finished off her shower; based on her mom’s morning routine, she was most likely checking stock information and making quick calculations regarding her investments.

And indeed, as the pink-haired girl wrapped a towel around herself and stepped out of the stall, she found her mother’s deep purple eyes glued to one of the displays on the wall, skimming through the highly detailed data.

“Hmm…Chaldea Security’s shooting up like a rocket.  Guess I didn’t give Tohsaka enough credit,” she said to herself, before noticing her daughter approaching the sink.  “Oh, and _look_ who’s ready to get all dolled up.  You’re starting to grow into a real bombshell, Madoka.”

Madoka’s face instantly went bright red.  “Don’t tease me, mama…” she mumbled back, unable to prevent a self-conscious glance downward.  “You know that isn’t true.”

“Maybe, maybe not.  But I’ll let you in on a little secret: ninety percent of beauty is just a matter of _believing_ in it,” she told her daughter.  “Fake it till you make it – that’s the adult’s creed.  Act like every crowd you pass has a few secret admirers…and odds are, one of them _will._ ”

The middle-schooler chuckled.  “I guess if you have something to fake _with,_ ” she declared, eyes moving over her mother’s indisputably gorgeous face.  “But secret admirers?  _Me?_   Let’s not kid ourselves, mama.”

In response to this, Junko gave her a look she couldn’t quite parse.

But all she said was, “Yep… _definitely_ different from how I was.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Junko Kaname’s eyes were on her daughter the entire way as they rode in a taxi to pick up Homura.

Akane’s car was in the shop, so they’d decided the most efficient way to handle things was to take a cab to the airport, and then have the same cab continue the kids on to the Inoue-Kunizuka residence.

They’d offered to pick Homura up from her home, of course, but the girl had politely declined, citing that it was too far out of the way for them to bother.  Instead, she would take a train to the station a few kilometers from the airport, and they could join up with her there.

Mind, the businesswoman had a sneaking suspicion it had more to do with not wanting Madoka to see where she lived.  Was her apartment in a nasty part of town?  Was that all she could _afford,_ with her parents apparently out of the picture?

Truthfully, when Madoka had confessed her reasons for wanting some “alone time” with Homura the other night, Junko had had half a mind to call child services.  A fourteen-year-old girl had no business fending for herself, even if she seemed to be rather good at it.

But then, Junko didn’t really _know_ anything about the brunette’s situation.  Only what she suspected, reading the tenseness of her body language and the terseness of her speech.

She’d just have to trust her daughter knew what she was doing with this trip.

And trust that “alone time” didn’t go in the directions she was worried it could.

It was honestly mindboggling how her daughter could miss the massive crush Homura evidently on her.  The signs were all there: the obsequious fawning, the lingering hugs, the faint flush in her cheeks whenever they happened to brush up against one another.

Perhaps because she was so reserved and stoic at other times, these moments stood out all the more.  Or maybe it was how much they reminded her of a certain young realtor who’d fallen head over heels for a humble tomato gardener, all those years ago.

Either way, it’d been evident within minutes of meeting her that Homura was both _very_ gay, and _very_ into her daughter.

Not that Junko had a problem with it – or at least, no more than she would’ve with _any_ person, regardless of gender, who looked at her precious baby girl “that” way – but at the same time, Madoka’s naivety in this regard could prove genuinely dangerous.

She’d only known the quiet girl for a little under a month now, and that wasn’t long enough to _really_ know someone.  Certainly not enough, in her view, to sleep in the same room as them for a full week.

Junko turned away from her husband and children and toward the window, sighing under her breath.  Perhaps she was just being overprotective.

Really, if Homura _did_ turn out as polite and demure as she projected herself to be, then she certainly wouldn’t be an _awful_ first love.  And Junko would’ve been a rank hypocrite to claim that fourteen was too young for a relationship – her own first boyfriend having been, depending on how seriously one took playground oaths, at either age twelve or six.

Still, she’d honestly never considered the issue one way or the other before today.  Never _had_ to.  It wasn’t like Madoka had ever come to her for relationship advice, guy _or_ girl.

It was one of those moments every mother prepares for – or at least _tries._   But now that it’d _finally_ come…

She found her preparedness rather wanting.

Especially as the train station in question was now rapidly coming into view.

Homura Akemi was waiting right at the curb, holding a bag over one shoulder and a small box in her hands.  As soon as the taxi doors opened she bowed and proffered it to Junko, revealing the gift to be an assortment of fancy snacks.

“A very good morning to you, Junko-san.  Tomohisa-san.  Tatsuya-kun,” she said, her manners impeccable.  “These are for your flight.  I expect the in-flight meals might not be sufficient for a trip of such length.”

“That’s very kind of you, Akemi-san,” answered her husband, returning Homura’s politeness.  “Please, come in and sit.  I hope we didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“It was no trouble,” the teenager told them, before deftly settling into the one empty seat in the cab.

Which just so happened to be right next to Madoka.

“ _Home-run-chan!  Home-run-chan!_ ” Tatsuya cooed gleefully from his car-seat; the brunette was now sandwiched directly between both Kaname siblings.  “We gonna go aunties, _Home-run-chan!_ ”

Rather than correct his pronunciation, however, Homura just smiled indulgently.  “Yes, it looks like we are,” she whispered back, just loud enough that Junko could hear.  “Now be a good boy the rest of the way, Tatsuya-kun.  So your mommy and daddy can take their trip without worrying about you.”

“Hokay!” he exclaimed, before curling up and resting his soft head against Homura’s leg.

“You’re so good with him,” said Madoka, her mouth open slightly.  “Sometimes it takes me _hours_ to get this little guy to calm down.”

“I’ve had… _practice,_ ” the brunette replied evasively.  “A lot of practice.”

Madoka frowned slightly.  “I thought you were an only child, Homura-chan,” she muttered, perplexed.  “Or did you mean with the younger kids at that orphanage?”

Junko was sure she didn’t imagine that uncomfortable little fidget.

“…Something like that,” the girl stated coolly, after a pause.  “Now, did you get all your homework done for the weekend, Madoka?  I want to make sure we leave some time to study if you need it.”

The businesswoman didn’t catch the rest of their conversation, however.  She was too deep into her own thoughts.

Taken on the surface, Homura Akemi really was something else.  Her infatuation with Madoka might’ve been patently obvious, but so too was her determination to do it _right._

Treating her parents with the utmost respect and deference.  Bonding with her brother.  Showcasing concern for Madoka’s life and wellbeing, well and above her own.  Even now, she acted the part of the perfect girlfriend, without necessarily getting a single thing out of it.

But that was just it; she was _acting._   The smiles, the laughter, the ever-present honorifics – none of them were faked, but they _were_ forced.  Like she was trying far too hard, simply to be seen as someone worthy of Madoka’s love.

A love her own mother didn’t even know _could_ be returned…much less whether or not it _would._

That, in and of itself, didn’t make her dangerous.  If anything, it made Junko’s heart go out to her.

But the question remained…

How would this quiet, introverted girl react if Madoka told her “no”?

 

[--------------------]

 

“I just got an email from papa,” said Madoka, about thirty minutes after dropping the Kaname parents off at the airport.  “They’re at the gate with an hour to spare.”

“That’s good to hear,” Homura responded distantly, as Tatsuya dozed against her side.  “They’re wonderful people, Madoka.  You’re very lucky to have them.”

Something about the girl’s tone seemed a little off, but Madoka decided to ignore it.

“Of course they are!  I wouldn’t give up my family for the world,” she told the other girl.  “And I’m glad you all get along so well.  Especially mama!  She keeps saying how you’re just like she was at our age.”

Slowly, that small but amazing smile reappeared upon her lips.  The genuine article – not the one she plastered on sometimes to pass unnoticed.  Those smiles were like golden moons.

Rare, but _incredibly_ beautiful.

“No.  No, you wouldn’t,” she murmured, taking one of Madoka’s soft hands in hers.  “And you’ll never have to.  That’s a promise, Madoka.”

“Umm…okay…” said Madoka, again unsure whether or not she was missing something.  But Homura didn’t seem to have anything else to add, so she decided to press onward.  “So, err…any idea what you wanna do once we get there?  I hear auntie’s new house is one of those super old-fashioned ones, like _twice_ the size of ours.  It’s right on the edge of Mitakihara, where the farms used to be.”

“I’m happy to do anything you want to do,” she declared quietly, her smile remaining firm.  “Just as long as I’m with you, Madoka.  That’s all that matters to me.”

“That…That’s just it, though!” Madoka was unable to keep herself from exclaiming.  “I don’t want you to keep doing stuff just because _I_ wanna!  You’re not some kinda robot, Homu-chan!”

The smile disappeared.  Replacing it was an expression that was almost like… _hurt?_

Feeling mortified, the pink-haired girl hastily added, “B…B…But I didn’t mean it in a _bad_ way, or anything!  I just…I want you to be yourself around me!  To feel comfortable.  You always seem so…so…”

Homura’s shoulders twitched slightly, as if agitated by something, and she wound up averting her eyes to the passing scenery.

“It’s been a long time since I felt anything like ‘comfortable,’” she said softly.  “I’m not sure I even know _how_ to, anymore.  It’s… _easier,_ when you take the lead.  It isn’t a burden to you, is it?”

“No, no!” yelped Madoka, a bit too quickly.  “Well, I mean…to be honest, I’m not really used to it.  When I was a kid, I always let Sayaka or Hitomi choose what we played, or where we went to eat.  Mama once joked that my spirit animal is a doormat.”

“That you consider others’ needs and desires before your own isn’t proof that you’re foolish or weak,” she told her firmly.  “It’s proof of your kindness.  Don’t let anyone _ever_ tell you otherwise.”

The conviction in her voice was enough to stun Madoka into silence, her cheeks pulsing a bashful pink.

But after a few moments, before she could stop herself, the words squeaked out, “Why do you think so much of me?  Why…Why do you even…?”

“Someday, Madoka…” Homura cut her off.  “Someday, you’ll see yourself the way I see you.  You have no idea how special you are.  How dear you are to…to so many people.  There’s no one I’ve ever met as generous.  As kind.  As willing to do whatever it takes to help out a stranger in need.”

“I…don’t really think that’s all that special,” said Madoka, biting her lip.  “There’s lots of people like that.  Maybe it doesn’t always seem that way, with all the news and stuff…but I _really_ believe it’s true.”

Homura tilted her head back toward her, so that their eyes met.  Those deep indigo pools, so rich in color and yet always seeming to lack _something,_ a spark that most “ordinary” people had, were suddenly shimmering with emotion.

“Trust me.  It’s rarer than you think,” she whispered back.  “ _So_ much rarer.”

Madoka wasn’t sure what else to say – so she said nothing.  The rest of the taxi ride proceeded in silence.

But when her fingers found Homura’s, several minutes later, the other girl didn’t pull away.

 

[--------------------]

 

The residence of Akane Inoue was, even for a time-traveler who’d fought supernatural monsters for over fourteen years, something of a sight.

It was the sort of traditional home you only saw in samurai dramas or anime these days, complete with sliding screen panels, narrow wooden verandas, and a garden that looked straight out of an Edo-era painting.  Despite herself, Homura found her eyes drawn to the light tapping of a _sōzu_ fountain, the bamboo tube rising and falling in steady rhythm.

“Isn’t it cool?” asked Madoka, her usual cheer returned in full force now that they were free of the confined space of the taxi.  She’d provided the cabbie with the generous tip Junko had left with her daughter, and he was now unloading the Kaname children’s bags.  “Like something out of a fairy tale!”

“ _Mmm-hmm,_ ” Homura hummed, barely listening.  Now that she’d recovered from the initial surprise, her instincts were kicking in with full force, peering about the roomy estate for potential threats and possible escape routes.

“Ah, I see you’re here already,” said an older voice from amidst the shrubbery.  Stepping around the azaleas in full bloom was a lady in her late thirties or early forties, wearing a low-brimmed straw hat and holding pruning shears.  “I didn’t expect you for another hour at least, Madoka-chan!  Let me get cleaned up and I can greet you properly.”

But Tatsuya Kaname didn’t have the patience for that.  Bouncing with energy after his nap in the cab, the three-year-old toddled over and grabbed his aunt around the leg.

“Auntie!” he giggled, mouth wide open.  “Auntie, up!”

“Well _you’ve_ certainly gotten bigger since we last met,” Akane remarked indulgently.  “Alright, let me just put away these shears and take off my gardening gloves.  Don’t want to cut those adorable little cheeks.  Madoka-chan, would you mind…?”

“Of course, auntie,” she answered, quickly bounding over to scoop up Tatsuya into her arms, freeing their aunt to begin walking back to the house.

“Kindly follow me,” the older woman told them, scooping up the luggage – minus Homura’s bag, which was still slung over her shoulder – without being asked, and beckoning them forward.  “You’re all welcomed guests in our home.”

And so, the four of them proceeded into the dwelling, Homura coolly observing their host from the back all the while.

She was something of a mousy woman, though hardly unattractive, with chocolate-brown hair and matching eyes.  Though Homura knew her to be older than Tomohisa by a year, she was almost two heads shorter than he was, and a body that’d probably been trim and fit a decade ago was beginning to give way to midlife plumpness.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” she said, once they’d all taken off their shoes and passed the threshold.  “I’ll be changed in just a moment.”

The interior of the home was no less traditional than the exterior, complete with shrines, folding screens, and tatami mats lining all the floors.  Madoka took a seat at a short _chabudai_ table without skipping a beat, looking as if she did this sort of thing every day, while Tatsuya did his best to mimic his sister’s graceful position (and largely failed).

Homura, for her part, fought off a blush at the sheer poise with which the pink-haired girl moved, so used to being seen at a klutz that she didn’t even realize it.  Then, silently, she joined the Kaname siblings on the floor.

Akane returned to them in less than two minutes, now carrying a tea tray and wearing a black yukata with a plain blue floral pattern.  She reached down to hug Madoka briefly around the shoulders, and to offer Tatsuya a kiss on the forehead, before stepping back and bowing low.

“I apologize deeply for my rudeness.  And especially to you, miss,” she spoke to Homura, head and shoulders still inclined.  “I failed to greet you and invite you properly into our home.  Please, I hope you can forgive me.”

Homura returned the bow as much as she could from a seated position, as she accepted steaming cups for herself and Madoka.

“No, no.  It was our fault for arriving earlier than our scheduled time.  It couldn’t be helped – traffic was simply far lighter than Tomohisa-san anticipated,” she said to the older woman, her politeness dialed back up to maximum.

“What a well-mannered girl you are.  Although if you’re friends with my Madoka-chan, that’s hardly a surprise,” Akane complimented her, taking a seat as well.  “Let’s try these introductions one more time.  I am Akane Inoue.”

“Homura Akemi.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, Inoue-san,” responded the raven-haired girl.  “I must say, you have a lovely home.”

“Why thank you, Homura-san.  And please, call me Akane – or Akane-san if you insist on the honorific,” the older woman stated brightly.  “I’m so glad to have all three of you here this week.  Shion and I have been getting a little stir-crazy cooped up in here, if I can be honest.  It’s been almost fifteen years since we’ve spent this much time off-duty.”

Truthfully, it was hard for Homura to imagine this kindly, petite lady as a police officer, though she didn’t say it out loud.

Then again, perhaps she wasn’t the person to complain about appearances being deceiving.

“Do you think they’ll get that investigation resolved soon, auntie?” asked Madoka.

“No way to tell, I’m afraid.  For obvious reasons that can’t really leak _us_ any details,” she said.  “Frankly, I’m not sure what else they expect to find.  Sarue’s case was… _unique._   Not the sort of thing that should taint an entire division.”

“Is it…err…something you can tell us about?” replied Madoka, more than a bit awkwardly.

Akane hesitated, glancing toward Tatsuya, who was listening rapturously.  Then, in careful and measured tones, she explained, “Sarue had… _pictures,_ on his computer.  Of children.  A suspect hacked his machine, found them, and blackmailed him into sabotaging several investigations.”

Tatsuya still looked completely oblivious, but Madoka immediately shuddered.  Sweet as she was, she wasn’t nearly as sheltered or naïve as Homura sometimes caught herself thinking her to be.

“Good riddance, I say.  Guy grabbed my ass on his first day, knew he’d get his shit canned ever since.  Just a matter of waiting,” came a deep voice from the other side of the sliding door.

“Shion!  Don’t use that kind of language in front of my nephew!” exclaimed Akane, as her partner entered the room.

If Akane Inoue didn’t quite look like a cop at first glance, then _this_ woman practically broke the rating scale.  Her black hair was dyed blonde in evenly spaced, alternating stripes (or possibly vice-versa), giving it the appearance of a tiger’s coat.  She wore jeans and a T-shirt with cut-off sleeves, bearing a weird logo and the words “DEATH DEVIL” in English.  As she walked into the room, Homura saw her surreptitiously toss a used cigarette into the garbage.

“ _Pssssh._   He has a fourteen-year-old sister, he’ll hear a _lot_ worse than that over the next few years,” said Shion, wiping her hands on her jeans and then offering one to the seated girls.  “Shion Kunizuka, Akane’s partner…in more ways than one.  God, how long’s it been, Madoka?”

“About three years.  Not since Obon back in 2008,” Madoka recalled promptly, not reacting in the slightest to her aunt’s less-than-age-appropriate outfit.  Homura supposed she must be used to the image at this point.  “Auntie, this is my friend Homura Akemi-chan.”

“Damn, _you’re_ quite the looker, aren’t you?” she told Homura, clasping her hand briefly and offering a cheery wave to Tatsuya.  “ _Aaaaaand_ now I’m getting scarily close to Sarue territory, so I’ll just leave it at the standard ‘welcome to our humble abode’ jazz.”

Homura wanted to keep herself from gawking, but despite her literally _years_ of practice she wasn’t sure she altogether succeeded.  _These_ were Madoka’s aunts?  _These_ two were a couple?

And yet, as Shion settled down next to her partner, the look that passed between them was unmistakable.  As were the hands that immediately locked around one another.

As was the deep kiss they shared after Akane poured her partner some tea.

“Now, you really must tell us everything about what’s going on at school, Madoka-chan,” said the brunette policewoman, after the two of them detached, Shion wearing a toothy grin.  “And you as well, Homura-san.  Don’t spare any details.”

But as Madoka searched for a way to explain her progress in English without saying some rather unkind things about her teacher’s inability to separate her work and personal life, Homura found herself tuning out.

Something else was suddenly commanding her attention.

“Excuse me a moment,” she interrupted the pink-haired girl’s just-launched story.  “I’m sorry, but could I possibly use your restroom?”

“Of course, dear.  Go out into the hall behind you, and it’s the second door on the left,” answered Akane with a smile.

“Thank you very much,” said Homura, bowing again and leaving without another word.

But though she exited into the hallway, she didn’t go through any of the doors _inside_ the house.  Instead she exited back out to the garden, and narrowed her eyes into the bushes.

She _knew_ what she sensed.  But _here?_   So soon?

“I told you already,” she snapped, to all outward appearances speaking only to the plants.  “You stay _away_ from Madoka Kaname.  That wasn’t a request.”

There was a swish of movement.  Then, within the bush, appeared two pinpricks of glowing light.

Instinctively, Homura shot a small bolt of magical energy just past the bush, singing the ground.  The figure within seemed to get the message.

A moment later, Homura Akemi was alone in the garden once more.


	3. This Would Be the Last

_“C’mon, it’s okay.  I won’t hurt you,” said Madoka, smiling nervously and offering a small fishcake._

_She tore off a bite-sized corner and held it out closer.  “It’s good!” she tried to tell the four-legged figure before her.  “I know you’re hungry.  Papa said that’s what it means when you make that sound.”_

_But the cat she was trying to woo only turned and strode away._

_Madoka Kaname was at a loss, unsure whether she should pursue as the feline continued to make that whining, high-pitched meow._

_There weren’t usually a lot of strays in a neighborhood like this, which made the appearance of the adorable black cat all the more notable.  Mama had always taught her that, here in Japan, the creatures symbolized good luck – a far cry from their reputation in the West – and so it’d drawn her eyes instantly each time she walked to or from school._

_Yet no matter how she approached it, the kitty steadfastly ignored her.  She’d tried food, toys, and even a green powder Sayaka-chan had_ sworn _was catnip but she had a sneaking suspicion was just another of the blue-haired girl’s practical jokes._

_If she was to be perfectly honest, it wasn’t doing wonders for her already rock-bottom levels of self-esteem._

_As she watched the cat continue its meandering about the neighborhood, Madoka found herself sinking to the grass in a lumpy blob of melancholy, her hands cupping her sagging cheeks._

_“I’m already failing English, I’m no good at any sports or instruments or anything, and I can’t think of a single club that’d want_ me _as a member,” she said, a bit to the cat but mostly to herself.  “And now I can’t even help out a little kitty.  Why…Why am I even_ here? _”_

_It wasn’t a question she was expecting to get an answer to.  Yet somehow, something in her voice caused the cat’s tiny ears to perk up.  Slowly, it turned its head, and returned her gaze with bright, golden eyes._

_“Do…Do you feel the same way?” Madoka asked it, very quietly.  She knew, intellectually, that it didn’t really understand what she was saying; that it was probably just responding to her hushed tone of voice.  But she kept on speaking, anyway._

_“I bet you haven’t had a great life, either,” she continued, biting her lip.  “You walk by all these nice houses every day, but no one gives you food or a place to sleep.  It’s not your fault you’re a stray.  It’s just how things happened to work out.”_

_Now the cat was slowly approaching her, its tail swishing back and forth._

_“I’ve got no idea what I want to do with my life.  I dunno if there’s anything I’m good enough at that it’s something I_ should _do,” murmured Madoka, now blinking away wetness from her eyes.  “But whenever I see someone like you, lost and alone…I just wanna help.  Even if I’m no good at it.”_

_The kitty, now just a quarter of a meter away, bent down, nuzzling at her left hand with its cute pink nose.  Slowly, the fingers unfurled to release the bit of fishcake she’d torn off earlier._

_Without saying another word, Madoka raised her palm just a little bit, letting the cat decide whether or not to close the rest of the gap.  A few seconds passed…_

_Then, its tongue flicked out, and it swallowed the snack whole._

_A shocked, but joyous smile spread across Madoka’s face._

_“Papa was right.  I just had to let you come to_ me, _” she said gently.  “Shhh…it’ll be okay.  Do you have a name?”_

_The feline, predictably, only meowed in response, and Madoka’s smile only increased in breadth._

_“I’m not really sure…but I think that sounded like a girl to me,” she whispered, knowing absolutely nothing of what she was talking about.  “How about…uh…Amy?  Does that sound good to you?”_

_The replying meow certainly didn’t make it sound like she_ dis _liked it._

_“I can keep coming around here every day if you want, Amy-chan,” added the middle-schooler, her voice rising slightly with excitement.  “I’ll bring you all sorts of other yummy-nummy snacks, and…and…whatever you want!  You…won’t have to be alone anymore, Amy-chan.”_

_Feeling emboldened, she reached up to give the black cat a gentle pet, but it seemed she’d moved too quickly.  Amy suddenly darted away, making a beeline for the other side of the street._

_By the time Madoka consciously realized what was about to happen, the car had already come and gone._

_It was a white minivan, moving so quickly that Madoka barely caught a glimpse of the man driving it.  He didn’t seem to realize he’d struck anything – or if he did, then it clearly wasn’t worth slowing down from double the posted speed limit._

_In any event, by the time Madoka’s brain caught up with her eyes, Amy was already lying flat against the pavement._

_“Oh…Oh God…” she stammered, eyes now streaming with tears.  “A…Amy…chan…”_

_It was overwhelming, simply to see something so tragic – so_ pointless _– play out, right in front of her.  But this was about more than that._

She’d _been the one to panic the poor kitty, by moving too fast; by being selfish, and wanting the creature to validate and acknowledge her, just a bit._

_This was all her fault._

_“I…I wish I could do something…” she said, voice quivering with choked sobs.  “If…If I…”_

_She clenched her hands over her mouth, and mumbled out, “If I could…just take back what I did…”_

**THERE IS A WAY, YOU KNOW.**

_Madoka’s breath caught in her throat, as the unseen voice seemed to insert itself directly into her thoughts, bypassing her ears entirely._

_“Wh…What…?” she asked, her voice barely audible._

**IF THAT IS THE WISH THAT WOULD MAKE YOUR SOUL SHINE…**

**THEN THERE IS A WAY.  MADOKA KANAME.**

 

[--------------------]

 

Madoka awoke with a jolt.

It was still dark, and at first glance her surroundings weren’t immediately familiar.  Her brain was still chugging back to normal speed, but she felt like she’d been dreaming of something… _important_ …

But…no.  She never really remembered her dreams after she woke up.  Only how they’d made her feel.

And right now, more than anything else, what she felt was…

Confusion.

The surface under her wasn’t the almost _painfully_ fluffy softness of her mattress, and as she peered around not one single stuffed animal stared back at her in response.

Instead, she seemed to be snuggled into a clean but economical futon, raised only a few centimeters off the floor.  Tossing and turning about in her pajamas a bit, Madoka’s rosy eyes struggled to adjust to the pitch-darkness…

Until she flipped to the side, and saw the sight that made it all click for her.

Homura Akemi was snoozing less than a meter away, settled upon her own futon.  Unlike Madoka she’d set herself in repose above the blankets, rather than under them.  The weather outside was still cold enough that this seemed a little odd, but then Madoka was _hardly_ in a position to judge other people’s sleeping habits.

Very few fourteen-year-olds, after all, _still_ slept with their adorable pink bunny _Usa-chan._

Now that she’d set her eyes on the slumbering brunette, everything else was flooding back to her.  She was staying with her aunts, Akane Inoue and Shion Kunizuka, in their countryside home, along with her brother and one of her best friends.

Today was Sunday, so they’d be back to school tomorrow.  But that left them a full day to simply hang out, and enjoy this amazing house.

Madoka smiled.  This was going to be truly wonderful.

“Homura-chan is so cute when she’s asleep,” she said to herself, idly.  She wasn’t sure where the thought had come from, but it was the truth.

Whenever she was awake, Homura always seemed so… _guarded._   Constantly on-edge, like a soldier searching for landmines with each step.  This was the first time Madoka had _ever_ seen her this relaxed.

“I…kinda wish it could be like this all the time, y’know?” she continued on, her lips loosened by the fact that she knew Homura couldn’t hear her.  “I always feel so bad, thinking about what you must’ve gone through.  I bet it’s something I could never understand, isn’t it?  I’m too fortunate.  I’ve never known what it’s like to _really_ suffer.”

She turned her body, so that she was looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m always going on about how worthless I am, but it probably just sounds like whining to you, huh?” Madoka whispered into the darkness.  “You’re so amazing it’s hard to believe, but…has anyone ever told you that at home?  How long’s it been?  I…I can’t even imagine it.”

Her face became set with a determination she knew no one would see.

“Don’t worry.  If you don’t have any family to be there for you, then…” she said, taking a deep breath.  “Then _I’ll_ do it.  And I always will.  You can count on it…Homura-chan.”

Satisfied with herself, Madoka soon fell back into a doze.

Never realizing – since the girl’s face was turned away from her – that Homura’s eyes had been wide open the whole time.

 

[--------------------]

 

“I _can’t_ believe yer outta onions,” complained Kyoko Sakura, as she and her roommate walked down the aisles of a local store.  “I take _no_ responsibility fer the shittiness of last night’s curry.  Girl’s only as good as her ingredients.”

“Hey, I thought it was pretty good!” Sayaka Miki replied defensively.  “Maybe not the _best_ I’ve ever had, but…”

“That’s cuz ya actually _like_ the cheap, outta the box kind.  Compared ta that, _any_ home-cooked curry’s gonna give ya a foodgasm,” said the redhead, now picking up and comparing two hefty bulbs.

To Sayaka’s untrained eyes, they both looked precisely the same, but Kyoko confidently placed the one in her left hand into a shopping basket, and returned the other to the pile.

“Look…I ain’t one ta knock eatin’ what ya gotta, when ya don’t have a choice,” she went on, now feeling up handfuls of garlic cloves.  “But yer family’s _loaded!_   An’ if yer not gonna take advantage of that ta eat like a queen…well, _I_ sure as hell am.”

“We’re not _that_ rich!” protested Sayaka, her arms crossed and her ears warm.  “Not like the Shizukis or the Kamijous, anyway.”

“Uh huh.  Which’s why we getta go inta this fancy-schmancy, overpriced ‘locally grown’ dig, drop the name ‘Miki’…an’ then pay next ta nothin’,” stated Kyoko with a sarcastic, fang-tipped grin.

“It’s only because my dad invested in it from the ground up,” Sayaka told the other girl.  “The guy who started it was actually Madoka’s dad, if you can believe it.  Anyway, the current owner was kinda like their kohai.  So he always gives us _huge_ discounts – no matter how much my dad says we don’t need it.”

“Eh, long as it means I get the good crap fer cheap, I ain’t complainin’,” she said.  “Ooh, sweet!  They got climbin’ wattle leaves!  Can make it Thai style nex’ time with these!”

That comment got Sayaka’s mind buzzing.  “You know, I’ve been wondering for a while…” she muttered, following behind the redhead.  “Where’d you learn to cook so good?  I mean, I know you love to _eat,_ but…seriously, you’ve got a talent for this.  No joke.”

Kyoko stopped in her tracks, so suddenly that Sayaka very nearly ran into her.  “…My mom,” she breathed out, her lips barely moving.  Then, she resumed her quest for rare herbs and spices, as if nothing had just happened.

The blue-haired girl watched her roommate carefully, but ultimately sighed and shrugged her shoulders.  That was probably all she was going to get.

When she moved to follow after Kyoko again, however, Sayaka found herself very nearly tripping over something in the aisle.

Scratch that – make it some _one_ in the aisle.  She was so short Sayaka had completely missed her, but there was a little girl sitting on the ground, holding spice containers in each hand and making adorable “ _Vroom Vroom!_ ” noises as she made them pretend to fly around.

“Oh…I’m sorry!” she immediately exclaimed, after righting her balance with some difficulty.  “I didn’t even notice you there!”

“My apologies.  I told Nagisa-chan it wasn’t polite to sit in the middle of the aisle, but…well, you know kids,” said another voice, causing Sayaka to turn around.

The girl approaching looked about Sayaka’s age, or perhaps just a bit older (though there was at least one feature for which it seemed quite a lot more than “just a bit”).  She was very pretty, with expertly coiffed blonde hair and a pleasant yellow sundress.

“My name is Mami Tomoe,” she added with a very deep bow.  “I hope Nagisa-chan hasn’t troubled you, young miss.”

“Oh, err…no, not at all!” Sayaka stammered out quickly.  “Nah, it was my fault for not looking where I was going.  I’m Sayaka, by the way.  Sayaka Miki.”

“A most excellent pleasure to meet you, Miki-san,” answered Mami, bowing again.  Hastily, Sayaka moved to do the same.  “If I may…you attend Mitakihara Middle School, do you not?  I recognize the uniform.”

Sayaka chuckled nervously as she scratched the back of her head.  “Yeah, uh…I really just kinda threw this on without thinking about it.  Great job, Sayaka, forgetting it’s the weekend like a boss,” she said.  “Anyway, I’m in eighth grade.  Homeroom with Saotome-sensei.”

“I’m a ninth grader myself,” explained the blonde, offering a warm smile.  “It’s always nice to run into a peer out here in the ‘real world,’ as it were.  I trust your shopping goes well?”

“Yeah, we were just picking up some ingredients for curry.  My roommate’s her own worst critic on this kinda stuff,” responded Sayaka.  “Still, if she _really_ wants to get it right, then there’s no better place in the city than _Wakō Garden._ ”

“Quite so.  I needed to pick up some more strawberries to feed _this_ little one’s sweets addiction.  The strawberry is the cake’s crown, after all,” Mami remarked, gesturing toward Nagisa and giggling lightly.  “Now, Nagisa-chan, let’s not bother the nice girl any further.  We need to get you home for your bath.”

At this, the white-haired girl finally put down her make-believe planes and nodded once, darting over to the older girl’s side.  She waved a cheery hand at Sayaka and called out, “Bye, blue girly!”  Then, the two turned to leave.

“Hey, what’s takin’ so long?  Seriously, howdaya get lost in a store with only three aisles?” demanded a familiar voice, as her head popped back into view.

Mami halted, and her smile broadened.  “Ah, this must be the roommate in question,” she said.  “I’m Mami…”

“…Tomoe,” Kyoko finished for her, before she could say the rest.

The name was spoken quietly, breathlessly, as if it’d slipped out almost by reflex.

“Huh?  You know her, Kyoko?” asked Sayaka, turning around.

“I…” the redhead murmured, haltingly.  “I…don’t think so.  Err…maybe?  She’s kinda familiar, but…damn, no.  I can’t place it.”

“If we _have_ met in the past, and I’ve simply forgotten, then I sincerely apologize,” said Mami, bowing yet again.  “But in any event, I really must be going.  Perhaps we’ll meet again at school.  Good day to you both, Miki-san.  Sakura-san.”

And with that, Mami and Nagisa left to purchase the strawberries currently overflowing out of her shopping basket.

“Whelp…that was kinda weird.  But they got the right idea, I say.  Shall we go check out too?” Kyoko spoke up after an awkward pause.  “Got everythin’ _I_ need, anyway.  Tonight’s dinner is gonna rock off yer pale blue socks!”

Seeing the expression still on Sayaka’s face, and after not getting a response for a few seconds, she demanded, “Hey, what’s the matter?”

“Didn’t you notice?” whispered back the blue-haired girl, teeth biting at her lip.  “Neither of us gave her _your_ last name, either.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Homura Akemi, of course, was not asleep.

She was _capable_ of sleeping, true, but hadn’t _needed_ to for quite some time.  Like eating or breathing, for someone of her… _unique_ status, sleep was no longer necessary from a biological standpoint.  She could and _did_ do them all, when necessary to maintain the illusion that she was still an ordinary human, but there seemed to be little point right now.

Especially since, so long as she remained awake and alert, Madoka was free to slumber peacefully beside her.

That’d been the nature of their relationship for as long as Homura could reasonably remember; the way it naturally _should_ be.  Homura took on the burdens; the dangers; all of the many, many things that were simply _wrong_ with the world.  All of it rested squarely upon her own shoulders.

So that it would never touch Madoka.  So that it never _could._

Now that she knew… _they_ …had followed them all the way out here, she couldn’t afford to spend a single _second_ resting.  They’d go away so long as she was there by Madoka’s side; that was a guarantee.  But if they should ever catch the pink-haired girl wandering about alone…

Homura gritted her teeth.  No…that _wasn’t_ going to happen.

She wouldn’t _allow_ it.

Still, so long as she was just lying here, waiting for Madoka to awaken…

The brunette thought of what she’d heard the other girl say, as she drifted out of some unseen dream.  Even after all this time – after all these iterations of the same set of events – the sheer _kindness_ of Madoka Kaname still managed to dumbfound her.

Of course, she had no idea what she was talking about.  Whatever she was imagining to be Homura’s “deep, dark secret” couldn’t hold a candle to the unvarnished truth.

Perhaps she thought Homura’s long-absent parents had abused her, physically or maybe sexually.  _If only,_ the raven-haired girl was almost tempted to think.  At least then, she’d have _something_ to remember about them.  Nightmares were still a form of dreams.

She’d lost them both when she was even younger than Tatsuya was now.  She didn’t remember more than flashes of images of her mother; a woman who shared her long black hair, hooked up to something that might’ve been a respirator.  The doctors had once told her that her heart condition was genetic, so perhaps it’d claimed the woman too.

Homura didn’t remember her father at all, and no one had ever mentioned him.  Run off, most likely.  Perhaps he didn’t even know she existed.

She didn’t feel… _sad,_ exactly, when she thought about these things.  Hadn’t even _before_ her quest through time and space had hardened her heart.  She was simply too young when it’d all happened.  She didn’t _know_ anything else.

Instead, her first memories were growing up in Japan’s notoriously fractured foster system.  She’d bounced between a couple of families, and even stayed six months in a children’s institution, after one foster parent took her nervous and easily panicked nature as a sign of mental illness.

Eventually, at age six, she’d settled into the place that would become her home for the next eight years: the Kaminaga Christian Home for Girls, an orphanage run out of an old church in Asunaro City.

It was a… _decent_ place to live, all things considered.  Certainly, there was nothing glaringly objectionable about it.  A nice bed to sleep on, and three square meals a day.  All that was required in return was a bit of nightly Bible study, and two-hour service each Sunday.

She’d never exactly been a believer in that sort of thing – and nothing she’d seen of the form miracles and blessings _really_ took in this world had changed her mind – but she didn’t especially mind it, either.  It was something to do with her time, at least.

The worst thing, really, was just how _lonely_ she felt there.  She’d never managed to make friends with the other girls, mostly because they seemed afraid she was going to get them all sick.

She’d tried to explain, on more than one occasion, that her illness wasn’t contagious.  But it was hard to make that point stick when she had to go to the hospital about every other week.

Her stupid heart condition had certainly denied her any chance of getting adopted, as well – assuming she’d ever had one to begin with.  Some of her hospital stays could last for _months_ at a time, and no parent wanted to take on _that_ kind of responsibility.

And, naturally, her erratic health hadn’t made school very enjoyable, either.  She’d scraped by in primary school, where missing the lessons on finger-painting _probably_ wasn’t going to set her back too far, but by the time the curriculum started ramping up at South Middle School, the administration’s patience for her frequent and extended absences had begun to wear thin.

Finally, when an attack during gym left her bedridden for nearly six months, the principal decided that he’d had enough.  Since she’d already been transferred to Mitakihara General Hospital to see a specialist, he politely “suggested” to the orphanage’s director – her legal guardian – that she’d be more comfortable starting fresh at a new school, closer by.

The director had been reluctant at first, but ultimately acceded, finding Homura a small apartment in urban Mitakihara and paying for the rent personally.

She still felt the occasional twinge of guilt for having abandoned the place so readily; before meeting Madoka, it was probably the kindest gesture anyone had _ever_ offered her.  But it couldn’t be helped.  The apartment simply wasn’t equipped to serve as the Witch-hunting base of operations she needed.

Still, it’d served her well in that very first time flow.  Alone and independent for the first time in her life, Homura had come to Mitakihara Middle School that very first day with something like hope in her heart.  It was small, and it was faint, but she felt it deep down inside.

The hope that, at last, _this_ time would be different.

But even that tiny spark was too much for the universe, it seemed.  Reality quickly set in: she was “the new girl,” so far behind everyone else that there was no way she’d _ever_ catch up.

Compared to her old school, most everyone seemed remarkably kind and understanding of her screw-ups, which in a sense only made things _worse._   When she looked like an idiot in class or passed out in P.E., she just felt like she was letting everyone down.

No matter where she went, she’d always be a useless, pathetic weakling; a burden on every person she met.  There was no reason for a girl like her to keep on living.

There was no reason why a girl like her should’ve ever been _born._

Those were the thoughts that’d raced through her mind as she walked along that bridge.  Thoughts that’d been like candy to Izabel, the Artist Witch.

Having killed the wretched creature dozens upon dozens of times by now, it was hard to remember just how _terrified_ she’d been, confronting her for the first time.  The way she tinged the sky with pastel reds and yellows, like the Renaissance paintings she’d plagiarized as a human girl.  Her terrifying, pencil-sketch Familiars, snatching up add any wandering souls to their mother’s vile “canvass.”

In that moment, Homura’s life had flashed before her eyes.  Her final thoughts, as certain death stared her right in the face…

Were of how it hadn’t been much of one.

Then, at the very last moment…she’d been saved.

And the rest, quite literally, was history.

Homura wondered, idly, why she’d been thinking so much of such things lately.  Those early days.  That very first, very dearest time flow.

Before she’d learned all the awful truths the Incubators were keeping from them.  Before she’d watched the only girl she ever loved die screaming, in a hundred different, awful ways.

Before, on more than one occasion, she’d been forced to finish the deed herself.

She supposed, in one sense, that reflection was inevitable.  That’d been the very first path they’d walked together, and _this_ would be the last.  One way or the other.

There’d be no more reversing time, once this plan shook out.  No more do-overs.  Come what may, _this_ was the time for Madoka Kaname to decide what she felt toward Homura Akemi, once and for all.

Love.  Friendship.  Hatred.  She’d have to pick one.

But as long as Madoka was happy…as long as she was able to go to bed like this each night, face free of any worry or regret…

Homura was prepared to accept any of the above, and more.

 

[--------------------]

 

When Madoka awoke properly, it was nearly eleven o’clock in the morning.

The lateness of the hour momentarily jolted the pink-haired girl.  Even on weekends, she usually got up at about the same time she did for school, preferring the security of habit and routine.  Either she’d been just _that_ tired, after skimping on sleep the previous night…

Or she was more comfortable sleeping on an old futon next to Homura-chan than she was in her own bed.

The thought made her blush, just a little bit.  She’d had sleepovers with Sayaka and Hitomi, of course, but not since they were really little kids.  This felt… _different,_ somehow.

 _Maybe,_ the thought came unbidden, _because this is the first “sleepover” you’ve had since puberty._

Madoka did a mental double-take at the errant thought.  Where’d _that_ come from?  It wasn’t like she…

Then, Madoka suddenly realized that, from this angle, she could see that the waistband of Homura’s pajamas had slid down slightly as she slumbered upon her futon.

Enough so she could catch a clear glimpse of the top of her…

The burning sensation in Madoka’s cheeks just about quadrupled in intensity.

About five minutes later, once Madoka’s embarrassment had subsided enough for her to extricate herself from her pillow, the pink-haired girl took a deep breath, lightly smacked both of her cheeks, and headed off to the bathroom.

Splashing cold water onto her face helped stem the strange, inexplicable tightness that’d gripped her chest, and by the time she emerged she was back to her usual, bubbly self.  A serene smile upon her face, she walked back to the guest bedroom, wondering whether or not she should rouse Homura as well.

To her surprise, however, the brunette was already up and about, silently rolling up both their futons and storing them back in the closet.

“Oh…you’re up!” said Madoka, stopping in the doorway.  “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You did nothing wrong, Madoka.  I suppose we both happened to awaken around the same time,” Homura replied coolly, as she finished straightening up the room.  After what could’ve only been a few minutes, it was now all but impossible to tell there’d been anyone staying here last night.  “I’d rather know whether _you_ got enough sleep.”

Madoka gave a small, hesitant nod.  “I…I’m alright,” she told the other girl.  “Y’know…you don’t have to keep worrying about me so much.  I’m pretty good about doing my homework and eating my vegetables.”

That actually caused the raven-haired girl to avert her eyes and bite her lip.  “I…didn’t mean…” she started, not finishing the thought.

But Madoka just smiled again.  “It’s okay, Homu-chan,” she stated brightly.  “It’s still really sweet.”

She was pretty sure she didn’t imagine the brief moment Homura’s cheeks reddened to match her own.

The two of them took turns stepping outside the door so the other could change.  While Madoka’s choice of outfit matched her pajamas fairly well – a little pink blouse and plain, power-yellow skirt – the one Homura came out in was…

“Wow…” Madoka was unable to keep herself from saying out loud.

She’d barely ever seen her friend in anything but her school uniform, which only made what she was wearing now “pop” all the more.  It was a pretty, knee-length indigo dress, with a striped pattern and a fancy red bow set over the waist.  Her undershirt, a mix of white and slate gray, had small ruffles down the front and a neat collar.  Completing it all was a sparkling purple jewel, which was set between the two points of her collar, just beneath her throat.

“You’re so beautiful, Homu-chan…” she murmured, feeling suddenly self-conscious.  “I guess you probably hear that a lot, but…”

“I suppose I do,” Homura cut her off, though she really seemed to be speaking more to herself.  “But there’s only one person it _matters_ to hear it from.”

As she walked past, Homura took hold of Madoka’s left hand, gently but firmly.  The pink-haired girl was startled a bit, but didn’t pull away.

Together, they walked down the hall.

 

[--------------------]

 

Mami Tomoe leaned back into the fragrant suds of her bubble bath, looking pensive.

Her young charge had finished her own bath and a lunch of cheese and crackers (mostly the former) about half an hour ago, and was now napping silently in the other room.  With nothing else in particular to do with herself, this left Mami with a good deal of time to ruminate over the morning’s encounter.

Kyoko Sakura… _why_ did that girl’s name strike such a chord with her?

She was fairly certain the two of them had never met in-person, at least.  Mami had an excellent memory for faces, and a girl like _that_ – with her apple-red hair, protruding fang, and unbelievably crude speech patterns – wouldn’t have been easy to forget.

And yet there was a sharp pang in her head whenever that smirking face floated through it.  Something like… _nostalgia?_   That was the closest thing she could think to compare it to.

The blonde sighed, sinking chin-deep into the water.  Every time she tried to think about it, the answer seemed to slip a little further out of her reach.  A sensation that was, sadly, all too commonplace these days.

Was this another one of her vaunted memory lapses?

She’d been having them, off and on, ever since the accident.  The doctors had never been able to explain it.  Perhaps if she’d suffered head trauma in the crash – but every test indicated that she was, from a medical standpoint, perfectly fine.

Most days, it wasn’t any more than a minor inconvenience.  She’d arrive at the grocery store and realize she couldn’t remember half the items she’d wanted to purchase.  Or she’d forget the way to a restaurant she’d walked to dozens of times.  A few simple notes on her phone solved that.

Other times, it was more serious.  Names of peers she’d studied alongside for _years_ seemed to simply slip her mind.  She’d sit down to do her homework and, just for a few moments, have no idea how to write in kanji.

Notes on her phone did little good when she forgot the password she’d set on it, just that _morning._

Mami had never told anyone but her doctors about this; who _would_ she tell?  She was alone, after all.  She didn’t have any living family, or close friends at school.  She just had Nagisa, and the girl was far too young to understand something like _this._

One of the physicians, naturally, had referred her to a psychiatrist for follow-up care.  Mami had gone in for one session and promptly “forgotten” to schedule any more.

It wasn’t that she had anything against therapy.  On the contrary, she knew there were many people who benefited quite heavily from the practice.

But whenever _she_ got too deep into her own head, the results were… _less_ than pleasant.  It hurt – genuinely, physically _hurt_ – to sit back and recount the past three years of her life.  Everything since the accident was a blur she _had_ to gloss over, like she was skimming the pages of a book.

Simply to stay sane.

So…maybe she _had_ met Kyoko Sakura, at some point across those “skimmed pages.”  She couldn’t know for sure.

Mami Tomoe swallowed hard, her heart filling with resolve.

“Well, if I can’t trust my own memories…” she said to herself, her fingers playing absently with a soap bubble.  “Then I suppose there’s only one other choice.”

 

[--------------------]

 

The first thing Madoka did upon entering the living room was step on her aunt’s face.

To be fair, Shion Kunizuka hadn’t started _out_ the night on the floor, but rather had collapsed onto the couch in a drunken stupor and then gradually slipped off of it.  By eleven o’clock, only her legs remained atop the seat, her upper body having slid straight across the room’s entryway.

Thus, the inevitable contact of foot to nose.

“Hoooooooly motherfucking shitballs!” she exclaimed, thrashing wildly at the sudden and brutal awakening.  “Warn a gal next time!  Even if I _did_ have a foot fetish…and not saying I don’t…”

“Oh God!  I’m so so so so so so _sorry!_ ” said Madoka, being one of the few people in the world capable of saying something that overdramatic and actually sounding _sincere._   “Auntie, are you okay?  Ugh, I’m such a klutz!”

By that point, however, Shion had managed to recover most of her faculties, and she was waving off her niece’s increasingly acute panic, even as she held up one hand to stem a small trickle of blood from her nose.

“Okay, okay.  Settle down, kid.  If every steak were perfect, we wouldn’t have hamburgers,” she declared.  “No permanent harm, just a bit of a bloody nose.  I get worse than this when Akane steps out of the shower.  Err…wait, forget you just heard that last part.”

Before a flushing Madoka could respond, however, Homura was already reemerging into the room with a box of bandages and a bottle of antiseptic.  The pink-haired girl hadn’t even noticed she’d _left._

“Do you mind?” she asked coolly, waiting only for a surprised, muted shake-of-the-head from the older woman before tending to the minor injury.

“Well, well… _you’re_ certainly handy to have around the house,” said Shion, a bemused expression on her face as Homura pulled away.  “Props for quick thinking, but you didn’t have to do that.”

“I’d be a poor guest if I was capable of acting, and failed to do so,” replied Homura.  “It’s the least I can do, after you welcomed us both so graciously into your home.”

“God, you don’t even seem _real,_ ” Shion told her, chuckling at the brunette’s excessive politeness.  “But if you _are_ …Madoka-chan, dear.  Don’t let this one get away.  She’s a keeper.”

She punctuated the point with an exaggerated wink.

Madoka swallowed, unsure precisely what her aunt was getting at, but nonetheless muttered, “I won’t.”

“Anyway, it’s well past time all _three_ of us got a start on the day,” Shion added after a little while, stretching out her arms and yawning.  “Akane’s probably been up since six, knowing her.  Dunno how she does it.”

“Five, actually.  But who’s counting?” said her partner, emerging from the kitchen with absolutely perfect timing.  She was holding a frying pan with an egg in it, and bearing a disarmingly innocent smile.  “You know, I considered waking you when I saw you slumped there on the floor, but then I thought… _this_ is how we learn lessons.  Isn’t it, sweetie?”

“You.  Are.  The _worst,_ ” grumbled Shion, holding her head with both hands.  “Can you at least avoid trolling me when I have, like…ten competing hangovers?”

“No one _made_ you down half your weight in beer last night,” responded Akane, rolling her eyes.  “Anyway, breakfast is in fifteen, if anyone’s hungry.  Or…brunch, I suppose.  And here I was hoping I’d gained some allies in the noble house of morning people.”

“I’m very sorry if we inconvenienced you, auntie,” Madoka squeaked out, bowing hastily.  “We were just really tired.  But we’ll be up early for school the rest of the week, don’t worry!”

The older woman burst into a low but hearty chuckle.

“Oh God, Madoka-chan.  You haven’t changed a bit all these years,” she said.  “I was making a joke, not seriously complaining.  Besides, you’re still leaps and bounds ahead of _this_ one.  When she’s out late with the band, I’m lucky if she’s up by four or five in the _afternoon._ ”

“You play in a band?” asked Homura, her tone giving away nothing about what she thought of the idea.

Shion waved a hand lazily toward the shirt she’d had on since last night – and which she’d evidently slept in.

“Death Devil isn’t big.  We’ve been together since high school, but we never really went anywhere.  Just a way to shoot the shit on weekends when work gets too stressful,” she explained.  “You said you were in Kazuko’s homeroom, right?  Would you believe she used to be a member?”

“Saotome-sensei?  In a… _rock_ band?” murmured Madoka, her mouth making a big “O” out of disbelief.

“Heavy metal, to be exact.  Bit of gothic, bit of industrial, mostly trying to hearken back to Sabbath,” stated the policewoman.  “Let’s see…there were eight of us when we first started out.  Kazuko and Nana both quit, but there’s still me, Chizuru, Shiemi, Erika, and Saki.  And Kayo, when she manages to show up for practice.  She’s got a baby now so it’s hard.”

Homura nodded once, then added, “May I ask which instrument you play?”

Shion struck a cool pose, running a hand through her tiger-striped hair like she was… _well,_ a rock star.

“Lead guitar, _naturally._   And a bit of the vocals.  Erika does most of the singing but I’m backup on a few songs,” she said.  “How about you, dollface?  I don’t see any calluses on those pretty fingers of yours, but they still seem a lot… _tougher_ than most fourteen-year-olds.”

“Oh, it’s…it’s nothing like that,” Homura answered the older woman, averting her eyes briefly.  “I’ve recently taken up… _archery._   It’s probably from that.”

Madoka gasped.  “I didn’t know that, Homu-chan!” she cut in, before clapping both hands around Homura’s.  “I used to do archery at school!  I mean…I was never all that good…but it was really fun!”

“You know, we have a range out in the yard.  If you can call three targets a range.  Used to dabble in college myself,” offered Akane, stepping back into the room without missing a beat.  “You should try it this afternoon.  Once your bellies are full, anyway.  Chop chop, don’t let these omelets get cold!”

For the next few minutes, the residents of the Inoue-Kunizuka household grew silent, as warm, gooey eggs took full custody of their tongues.

 

[--------------------]

 

Homura notched her latest arrow expertly against the bowstring, pulled back with strength that seemed to belie her petite stature, and finally, let it loose in a graceful arc…

Straight into the bushes, where her last six arrows had also landed.

“Keep trying!  You’ll get it soon enough,” Madoka said brightly, while Homura steadfastly worked to avoid her gaze.

It was a mark of just the kind of person Madoka was that she didn’t even _think_ to laugh at her fumbled attempts.  If it was Sayaka Miki or Kyoko Sakura, they’d be doubled over on the floor by this point; even Mami Tomoe or Hitomi Shizuki would’ve had trouble concealing a chuckle or two.

But even as each failed attempt made the lie she’d told Shion Kunizuka all the more obvious, Madoka never stopped smiling or offering words of encouragement.  Cynical as she was, Homura might’ve been tempted to wonder if anyone truly _could_ be this unflinchingly kind…

If, of course, she didn’t have almost literally _endless_ evidence to the contrary.

“I suppose this just isn’t my day,” was her muttered aside, as she moved to peel off the leather coverings over her chest and hand.  But Madoka held her off.

“Here.  Let me try and help,” she told Homura, and with no further warning, she pressed her entire body up against the brunette’s.

Instantly, the time-traveler felt like she was on fire, her body tingling madly all the way from head to toe.  In a hundred-odd timelines, the number of times Madoka had ever been _this_ close was… _was_ …

Frozen in place and stuck inside her own head, Homura offered no resistance as Madoka subtly moved and posed her, letting the curves of her body guide the other girl into the proper stance.

“Alright…take another shot,” she said after about a minute of this – not that Homura could hear her, given that her brain was currently a pile of soggy mush.

Still, the instincts she’d honed across countless time flows hadn’t disappeared, and it was by instinct that her hands did as they were told, notching and firing off one last arrow.

One that found the bullseye of its target straight and true.

“Amazing!  You did it, Homu-chan!” exclaimed Madoka, clapping and pumping her arms in the air like a one-girl cheer squad.  Then, abruptly, she seized Homura in a tight hug.

“I…barely did anything…” mumbled the raven-haired girl, feeling lightheaded and dizzy from all the sudden close-contact.  “I…umm…I mean…”

True, Madoka had always been… _enthusiastic,_ in her displays of affection.  Both in this time, and in all the others.  Not at the level of Sayaka Miki grabbing girls around the waist and declaring them to be her wives, but the pink-haired girl certainly counted as a “hugger.”

Nevertheless, there was a bit of a difference between a quick, friendly embrace, and… _that._

“Are you okay, Homu-chan?” asked Madoka, now looking concerned as she finally released the other girl.

Homura didn’t answer for a few seconds, taking deep breaths to steady herself.  She’d thought she was _beyond_ this sort of thing.  The type of reaction she might’ve had to Madoka’s touch, _before_ her journeys through time and space had stripped away everything but duty and purpose.

Even if things were different now…even if every fiber of her being _wanted_ them to be…

“Homura…?” Madoka repeated, adorable brow now creased with worry.

She still couldn’t afford to let down her guard.

For Madoka’s sake, as much as her own.

“It’s…nothing, Madoka.  I just felt a little woozy, that’s all.  It passed quickly,” she said, face again an impassive mask.  “Thank you very much for helping me.  You’re clearly far more talented than you let on.”

Now it was the pink-haired girl’s turn to flush.  “I’ve just practiced more, that’s all,” she replied.  “Even then, it’s been a while.  If these targets were more than a few meters away, there’s no way I could hit them.”

Homura almost had to suppress a snort.  She’d seen Madoka shoot arrows – albeit, not ones made of wood – at _far_ more distant “targets” than these.  And never miss once.

Which was good, when each arrow packed firepower comparable to a nuclear explosion.

“In any event, I think I’ve had enough for now,” Homura stated coolly, taking a seat on a nearby patio chair.  “But I’d like to watch you continue, if that’s alright.”

Madoka looked a bit sheepish, but nodded.  “I don’t think I’ll make for much of a show, but…well, if that’s what you want,” she answered back, smiling faintly.

But her usual self-deprecation rang a bit hollow as she took careful aim, loosed another arrow, and struck the next target dead-center.

And as for Homura, who had an excellent view of the ways Madoka’s petite body gracefully tensed and stretched with each shot…

She was forced to politely disagree that the “show” wasn’t worth it.

 

[--------------------]

 

“For my final piece today,” said Kyosuke Kamijou, bowing low to the judges.  “I will be performing Violin Sonata No. 9 in A major, Op. 47, first movement.”

“The _Kreutzer Sonata._   A bold move, as a closer,” the head judge whispered aside to his fellows.  “Based on this one’s style, I’d have expected the second movement, if he _insisted_ on Beethoven.  Especially with no accompaniment.  It’s rather outside his wheelhouse.”

Hitomi Shizuki, seated in the second row and able to hear all of this, clenched her dainty fists.  She’d been with Kyosuke when he selected the piece, and that was precisely _why_ he’d included it in his performance: to show that the lilting melodies he’d built his name upon weren’t _all_ he could do.

A performer’s lifeblood was their range, and Kyosuke was more than ready to demonstrate his.

To an untrained ear, the first few bars of the movement weren’t all that dissimilar from the melodious Schubert and Debussy pieces that preceded it.  But while Hitomi was far from the virtuoso Kyosuke had been since childhood, she _had_ been practicing piano most of her life, and she could tell the difference between a song that was merely slow…

And one that was slowly _building._

Then, like the furious slamming of a door, the movement reached its main body, and Kyosuke’s fingers shifted seamlessly into a blinding _Presto._

The bow became a blur, attacking the strings as if they were its mortal enemy, and filling the hall utterly with the frenetic energy of the piece.  It was pure anger, distilled into the language of song, bombastic and unrestrained.

As so often happened when Hitomi listened to Kyosuke perform, she found her mind drifting – not because he’d failed to capture her attention, but because he’d captured it so _well_ that her thoughts simply couldn’t sit still.

The notes were within her, _part_ of her.  Even if it was only effected for the performance, that anger was _real_ and visceral, and more to the point it was _her_ anger.  Contrary as it was to her proper and ladylike reputation, if she was commanded at that moment to strike someone she knew she would.  Her every emotion was a stewpot, and that violin the stirrer.

She only came back to herself about ten minutes later, when the opening _Adagio_ returned for the coda, an expression of sincere and irrepressible anguish.  The emotional swing from bursting highs to heartbreaking lows was intentional, and by the end Hitomi very much doubted hers were the only leaking eyes in the amphitheater.

From listening to him practice, she knew that two more movements normally followed: the calm and peaceful second, and the exuberant and overjoyous third.  But the entire sonata was over forty minutes in length – hardly practical for a competition.

So that was just going to have to serve as her boyfriend’s grand finale.

It was nearly half an hour later that she got a chance to see him again, as a beautiful blonde violinist and her bespectacled accompanist brought the final round to a close.  While they took a bow, Hitomi was already shuffling off backstage, and throwing her arms around the gray-haired boy.

“You were incredible, Kyosuke!” she cried, beaming.  “Even better than in practice.  There’s something about competitions that really makes you come alive.”

Kyosuke, however, wasn’t smiling.  “I screwed up the coda.  My fingers were tired, and they slipped for a second,” he said, biting his lip irritably.  “At this level of competition, even that can be enough to knock you out of the running.  Especially after what Miyazono just pulled off.”

He gestured to the blonde girl and her pianist, who were just exiting the stage.  Hitomi watched as they met up with two other friends, a boy and a girl, and almost immediately fell into some sort of (hopefully good-natured) argument.

Then, turning her green eyes back on her boyfriend, she responded firmly, “Listen here, Kyosuke.  You’re the most talented person at this entire showcase.  Whatever the judges say, that’s the deepest, honest truth.  I believe in you…so you should do the same.”

Despite himself, the prodigy cracked a small smile.  “When did you get so wise, Miss Shizuki?” he asked.

Hitomi returned the grin warmly, before leaning forward and planting a small kiss on his cheek.  “When I confessed to you…and you said you felt the same way,” she told him.

But, rather than be affected by her romantic-if-corny line, Kyosuke’s left hand slowly drifted up to the place she’d kissed him, his eyes wide and blank.

“When…When _was_ that…?” he whispered, mouth barely moving.

The green-haired girl blinked, and her face fell slightly.

“I mean…don’t get me wrong.  I _know_ it happened, I remember it,” Kyosuke added hastily.  “But…how long ago was that?  A week?  A month?”

Hitomi’s mouth fell open, and a soft, barely audible gasp escaped it.  It didn’t seem possible, and…and yet…

“I…don’t…remember either,” she said, and for just a moment, her blood ran cold as ice.

 

[--------------------]

 

Akane and Shion had gracefully elected to watch over Tatsuya the entire afternoon, leaving the teenage girls to themselves.

“A shame the government won’t let us adopt legally,” Akane tossed off, with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “At least this gives us a chance to pretend.  Now, run off, have some fun.  Let us know if you need anything.”

Madoka wanted to say more – she didn’t know much about politics, but she _did_ feel she had a pretty good grasp on right from wrong – but her aunts continued to shoo her, and ultimately, she acceded to be led away by Homura’s insistent hand.

“That’s just…so _unfair!_ ” exclaimed the pink-haired girl after a few minutes, her cheeks puffed up in a rare display of anger.  “They’d both be _great_ parents!  Well…if Auntie Kunizuka stopped swearing and smoking so much.  But you know what I mean!”

“I do,” said Homura tonelessly.  “And you’re not going to hear any arguments from me.  But we can’t simply change the world as we please.  Much as we might want to.”

“Maybe not alone, but…together!  Together, I think we could!” Madoka protested, a simmering flame flashing in her eyes.  “Everyone should get to be with the person they love.  They should be able to get married, and be there for each other, and have kids if they want…just like everybody else!  Mama’s always saying that we’re the future.  Maybe we can be the generation that _really_ changes things for Japan.”

Homura halted by half a step, just for a moment.  “Do you truly mean that?” she asked, her voice strangely distant.  “ _Everyone_ should have the person they love by their side?”

“If it’s mutual, and consensual…then sure!  I don’t see why not,” declared the pink-haired girl.  “The world’s better with more love in it.  I believe that…I _really_ do.”

For the first time in a few hours, a smile spread over Homura’s normally stoic features.  “Come on,” she encouraged her classmate.  “Let’s do what they asked.  Let’s have some fun.”

The pair of girls spent the entire remainder of the afternoon at each other’s side.  The old-fashioned estate was wide and sprawling, with plenty of things to do both inside and out.

They explored the garden with their shoes off, reveling joyfully in the feeling of dirt and grass between their toes.  They tried their luck – not that Madoka had much of it – at catching cicadas with a pair of nets Akane stored in her shed.  They attempted a game of mahjong, before it became increasingly clear that neither of them actually knew the rules, and they fell into a fit of giggles.

It was a simple, uncomplicated joy; the sort Madoka couldn’t remember experiencing since she was a little girl, playing around in the mud with Sayaka and (when she decided she could risk the wrath of her mother for coming home with a dirty dress) Hitomi.

It was the sort of joy Madoka wasn’t sure Homura had _ever_ gotten a chance to experience.

By the time they were fully tuckered out, it was already twilight, and the two collapsed onto the grass side-by-side, watching the sun descend past the horizon.

“There’s something about the sunset that always makes me feel… _warm_ inside, y’know?” said Madoka, hand gliding over casually to clasp Homura’s.  “Even though I know night’s coming right after, it almost seems the brightest part of the day for me.  I know it’s really not, but still.”

“They say…” the brunette murmured back, accepting the hand without the slightest twitch of hesitation.  “It’s always darkest before the dawn.  Perhaps the converse is true as well.”

A soft, silent breath escaped her lips.  “Darkness has no meaning on its own.  It only exists by contrast,” she continued on, her voice taking on that strange, distant tone again – as if not every part of her was actually _there._   “The light of hope, the warmth of love…when those are absent, there’s nothing.  Not even sadness, or loneliness, or despair.  Those would at least be _something._   Without them, you’re just… _empty._ ”

“Homura-chan…” whispered Madoka, turning over to look at the other girl straight on, concern etched into every line of her face.  “What are you talking about?”

But Homura didn’t return her gaze.  She just continued to stare off into the distance.

“Today was… _nice,_ Madoka,” she replied, in lieu of actually answering.  “Thank you for it.  It’s so much more than I deserve.”

That was the last thing she managed to say before a bullet sailed straight through her head.


	4. What It Takes to Make Her Smile

“ _Homura-chan!_ ”

Madoka’s scream cut through the twilight air like a knife, the girl barely comprehending what she’d just witnessed.

It’d all happened so quickly.  Madoka had never seen a real gunshot before, but from movies she thought she’d at least have heard the bang; seen the muzzle shot.

Instead, all that’d happened was that a hole appeared in the side of Homura’s head, spurting blood.  Then the other girl collapsed, and was still.

Madoka placed her fingers to her mouth to keep from screaming again – and very nearly failed, as she touched a bit of Homura’s blood that’d splattered onto her cheek.  Her eyes were wide with horror and panic.

“No no no no no no no _no no no_ …” she stammered, her blurred vision darting between Homura and their surroundings.  She had no idea where the shot had come from.  No idea if she’d be next.

No idea if… _if_ …

“Madoka.  Get behind me.”

The pink-haired girl blinked, unable to believe her bleary eyes.  It couldn’t be…but…

“Homura…chan…” she said, lips barely moving.  “You…You were…”

“It only grazed me.  I was fortunate,” responded Homura, grabbing Madoka by the arm and gently but firmly maneuvering her body behind her own.  She seemed to be moving without the slightest difficulty.  “Now, move as I move.”

Madoka followed the other girl’s directives, if only because she was too stunned to do anything else.  The two of them crept across the estate grounds, keeping low, Homura shifting directions every few seconds to keep an eye on as much of their surroundings as possible.

All the while, though she knew it wasn’t a good idea to divide her attention, Madoka couldn’t keep her mind from racing.

Homura’s explanation didn’t match what she’d seen at _all._   Or… _thought_ she’d seen?

She was getting a pretty good look at Homura’s head from multiple angles right now, and the exit wound she was _sure_ she’d seen was nowhere to be found.  Sure, there was blood, but far less than she’d originally thought.

Had she just _imagined_ the wound was worse than it was?  She’d heard that panic could play tricks on the eyes.  But still…

One of her hands brushed her bloody cheek again, unsure what to believe anymore.

In any event, while both girls remained on edge for a second shot, none came.  They made it back to the house without any issue, Homura casting one last, lingering glance at the courtyard before opening the screen door and pushing Madoka inside.

The moment the door slid shut, Madoka let out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been keeping in, collapsing against the wall with a shudder.  Homura, however, didn’t relax her guard one iota.

“It doesn’t make sense…” she muttered to herself, her jaw clenched tightly.  “Who could have possibly…”

She seemed to catch herself before she said any more.  The moment she went silent, however, Madoka felt a veritable flood of words clawing to escape her throat.

“Wh…What _was_ that?!” she demanded shrilly.  “Homura-chan, you were…and then we were…oh God, oh God!  Who’d wanna do that to you?!  Or…Or was it _me?_   Oh God, if it was me…if you got hurt for my sake…I don’t…I don’t…!”

“Madoka, get ahold of yourself.  This isn’t helpful,” said Homura, her tone somewhere between a friendly request and an absolute order.  Still stunned from fright, however, Madoka took it for the latter, and complied.

“I’m uncertain who the shooter was, or why we were targeted,” the brunette continued on, frowning thoughtfully.  “But rest assured, Madoka.  I _will_ find out.”

Now that some – though far from all – of Madoka’s faculties had returned to her, a thought occurred to her.

“Maybe…we weren’t the targets at all?” she suggested, still trembling as she leaned against the wall for support.  “My aunties said there’s a corruption investigation going on…some criminal who blackmailed their coworker.  Maybe it’s connected?”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” stated Homura noncommittally.  “Either way, we need to get you someplace safe.”

“Shouldn’t we tell Auntie Akane and Auntie Shion first?” asked the pink-haired girl.  “And call the police?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Homura replied, with more than a bit of an edge to her voice.  “But let’s get you to the guest room first.  It’s the room furthest from the outside, and it only has one entrance.  Easy to defend.”

“If…If you think that’s the best idea,” said Madoka, though she didn’t feel very sure.

Homura continued to lead her by the hand, moving through the hallways at a harried pace.  Soon enough they’d returned to the room they’d slept in last night.  The raven-haired girl wasted no time taking down Madoka’s futon and laying it flat.

“This will be easier if I _know_ you’re safe,” she told her, gently guiding Madoka’s wobbling legs to the ground.  “And there’s no place that’s safer than this.”

“Wait…you want me to go to _sleep?_   At a time like _this?!_ ” exclaimed Madoka, her mouth open in protest even as her body yielded easily to Homura’s guiding hand.  “You can’t just…!”

But the moment her head hit the pillow, a wave of absolute exhaustion washed over her, and she lost her train of thought.  Her vision dimmed; she could almost swear the world briefly glowed _purple._

“No one will ever threaten you, Madoka.  _No_ one,” she whispered, as the other girl’s world went completely dark.  “I’ll make sure that when you wake up…all of this is nothing but a very bad dream.”

 

[--------------------]

 

When Madoka next awoke, it was to the alarm clock blaring six-thirty in the morning.

Normally, it took her at least a few minutes to properly rouse herself, but this time she bolted upright the second the buzzing went off, her pink eyes frantically darting about the room.

And what they found…was absolutely nothing strange at all.

Indeed, the room was nigh-identical to the way it’d looked when waking up yesterday – including the fact that she wasn’t alone.  Homura was lying atop her own futon, still dozing despite the alarm.

Madoka hesitated for a moment, before gently shaking the other girl’s shoulder.  “Homura-chan…Homura-chan, wake up,” she said anxiously.  “Please…I need to talk to you.”

The brunette rolled over and blinked, bringing her knuckles up to her face to rub the sleep out of her eyes.

“Oh…good morning, Madoka,” she muttered, clearly still a bit out of it.  “Is it time for school already?”

“Never mind that!  What happened last night?” demanded the pink-haired girl, her lip trembling.

But Homura looked honestly confused.  “Last…night…?” she repeated.

“You know!  When you were…!” yelped Madoka, before lowering her voice.  “When you were _shot._   Did the police come and search?  Did they find out who did it?”

“Madoka…” the other girl said softly.  “Nothing weird happened last night.  We were outside playing, and you got…really woozy, all of a sudden.  I brought you back here, and you fell right asleep.  I tried to rouse you at dinnertime, but you were out like a light.”

“Wait…” breathed Madoka, a chill running up her spine as she took this in.  “Wait, _what?!_ ”

“You must’ve just had a nightmare,” Homura told her soothingly, one hand placed comfortingly upon her friend’s shoulder.  “But everything’s alright.  You’re safe…I’m safe…Tatsuya and your aunts are safe.  There’s nothing to be worried about.”

Something about that didn’t seem quite right – but Madoka couldn’t think of a way to argue against it.  Instead she forced her best smile, to reassure Homura that she believed her.

“I…I guess that makes sense.  Just me being silly again,” she replied, after several seconds of uncomfortable silence.  “C’mon…let’s get ready for school.  The bus ride’s gonna take almost an hour, so we should get going soon.”

Homura nodded and bowed her head.  “Lead the way, Madoka,” she said.  In the space of their conversation, she’d already managed to rehang both of their futons and smooth out her bad case of bedhead.

“Shion!” they could hear Akane Inoue shout from the kitchen, as they made their way through the hallway.  “Did you leave the stove on overnight again?  The gas light is on!”

Madoka giggled as her other aunt answered with equal volume, though her response was largely just a lengthy string of slurred curse words.  After a beat, Homura joined her.

 

[--------------------]

 

Madoka wasn’t the only one who woke up rather suddenly that morning.

Though in Sayaka Miki’s case, that had more to do with the pair of breasts pressed into her face.

“ _Gah!_ ” she yelped, extricating herself from her roommate’s body and gulping down several shallow, ragged breaths.  “Don’t _do_ that, Kyoko!  How many times have I told you…!”

“Eh, yer overreactin’.  Besides, if I got ta wake up ta a pair o’ girls _this_ gorgeous every mornin’…” said the redhead, a fang-toothed grin on her face as she gestured ostentatiously toward the chest in question.  Since she was in the middle of changing, it was presently clad only in a bright red bra.  “Well, let’s just say _I_ wouldn’t be in a mood ta complain.”

Sayaka rolled her eyes as she slid out of bed.  “Get over yourself,” she sniped.  “I mean, if you wanna play that game, I’ve got at _least_ a couple centimeters on you, last I checked.”

But that just made Kyoko grin wider.  “Then why don’t ya ever return the favor?” she asked with a wink.

The blue-haired girl answered only with a low, tired groan as she lumbered off to the bathroom to pee.

Kyoko was always doing stuff like this – mocking, teasing, trying to get a rise out of her comparatively straight-laced roommate.  Usually it was nothing but a lewd comment here or there; dirty jokes and juvenile double-entendres.  Occasionally, though, she’d grow bolder, poking Sayaka in the butt or making a show out of changing.

Having been an only child all her life, Sayaka wasn’t sure if this was how sisters – which, she supposed, was more or less what they were to each other right now – usually behaved with one another.

But she also knew that some of her body’s reactions _definitely_ didn’t count as “sisterly.”

Sayaka wasn’t stupid, after all.  Well…not _so_ stupid.  She could recognize the not-so-subtle messages her hormones were trying to send her.

She was just steadfastly ignoring them.

Ever since things with Kyosuke had crashed and burned a few weeks ago – something for which she had only herself to blame, a voice in her head was quick to remind – she’d been trying very hard _not_ to focus any matters of the heart.  He was the only person she’d ever fallen in love with, and while she’d been sincere in giving him and Hitomi her blessing…

It still hurt.  God, it still hurt.

She supposed that, on an intellectual level, she recognized herself as bi.  Looking at pictures of celebrities or well-proportioned anime characters, she got turned on just as easily by the guys and the gals.

But that was just base, sexual desire – something she was still discovering, if somewhat nervously.  Sure, Kyoko was hot.  She could acknowledge that.  Nothing weird there.

These feelings, though…she was starting to worry they were something different.  Something she _really_ wasn’t prepared to deal with right now.

And something that, relentless tease or not, wasn’t fair to Kyoko herself.

 _Maybe_ she meant something with all this relentless flirting.  Maybe she didn’t.  It was impossible to tell, with how little the redhead took _anything_ seriously.

But even if – Sayaka fought to keep her cheeks from burning – even _if_ she genuinely wanted to fool around a bit, the blue-haired girl wasn’t sure she was capable of reciprocating.  She didn’t want her first time, guy _or_ girl, to be some hormone-driven fling with a roommate.

She wanted it to _mean_ something.

Which wasn’t a fair demand to put on Kyoko, regardless of the circumstances.  Especially with Sayaka half-suspecting that these feelings were nothing but her heart rushing back into things to ease the pain of rejection.

Kyoko, whatever her faults…deserved more than to be just somebody’s rebound girl.

“God, that took forever!  What’d ya do in there, take the world’s biggest dump?” said Kyoko in a carrying voice as she slipped out of the restroom.  “Wait…don’t answer that, don’t wanna know.”

A vein pulsed on Sayaka’s temple.  It was suddenly much harder to remember _what_ Kyoko “deserved,” beyond a hard smack in the head.

“Now move over, I wanna grab a quick shower before we get goin’, kay?” the redhead added, pushing past her roommate with casual flippancy.  “Don’t bother with lunch, by the way.  I made bentos.”

Sayaka’s mouth hung open, as she swallowed the biting report she’d been about to lay upon the other girl.

“Wh…When’d you have time for _that?_ ” she demanded, a bit more harshly than she’d been intending.

Kyoko shrugged both shoulders.  “Eh, been up fer like two hours already.  Can’t help if ya sleep in like a Kabigon,” she replied, sticking out her tongue.  “After a while, a girl’s gotta do _somethin’_ ta keep herself entertained.”

“Hence the boob-squishing?” said Sayaka dryly.

“Hence the boob-squishin’,” confirmed Kyoko with a grinning nod.

The blue-haired girl found herself sighing deeply.  Every time she thought she had a read on this girl…every time she thought she could feel comfortable dismissing her as nothing but an annoying, slovenly, gluttonous prankster…

As Kyoko climbed into the shower, Sayaka slipped into the kitchen and snuck a peak at the bento boxes.  And groaned at how goddamn delicious they looked.

…She’d go and do something like _this._

Sayaka cursed the hell out of her stupid, stupid, _stupid_ heart.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Oh, we’re all going on a ridey-ride to Hell, hey!  Upside-down and a roundy-round town, hey!  Gonna jump the track and crash into a wall, hey!  Rear-ender, fender-bender, crash into a mall, hey!  Yeah, we’re all going on a…”

Homura took one long, lingering look at Madoka.  And then began silently banging her head against the bus window.

Madoka couldn’t help but suppress a giggle.  Still, trying to be nice, she tapped her the girl in the seat next to her on the shoulder.

“Umm…sorry to bother you…” she said in a low voice.  “But your friend is…uh…”

“Hey, I hear ya,” responded the other girl, a brunette wearing a black sailor uniform with a streak of her hair dyed red.  “But that’s just Mako.  Once she gets goin’, nothin’ can make her stop.”

The girl in question, however, whose uniform was white and pale blue, _did_ rather abruptly cease her incessant singing – if only to slap her hands over her mouth and openly gawk at Madoka.

“Oh.  My.  God.  You’re so _cute!_   Isn’t she cute, Ryuko-chan?” she exclaimed, far more loudly than was probably appropriate on public transportation.  “And your voice!  I dunno what it is but I _really_ like your voice!”

“Th…Thanks?  I think?” mumbled Madoka, shrinking down into her seat and going beet-red at the praise.

Then, without any warning, the enthusiastic schoolgirl did something Madoka hadn’t been expecting at all – she glomped onto her friend, and kissed her full on the mouth.

“But don’t get the wrong idea!  She’s nowhere _near_ as cute as you, Ryuko-chan!” she cried out, after they came unglued.  “ _Weeeeell_ …maybe not so much ‘cute’ as ‘so sexy I might pass out.’  Point is, don’t be jealous!  For one thing, your boobs are way bigger than hers!  _Waaaaaaaaay_ bigger!  I know ‘cuz…!”

The black-clad girl put a finger to her companion’s lips, hushing her.  “No need ta go inta the whole speech,” she said, though she was smiling indulgently.  “I know what we are ta each other.  Don’t hafta put it inta words.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…” piped up Madoka, her cheeks still burning.  “What school do you two go to?  Your uniforms don’t really, umm…seem to match…”

“Transferrin’ ta a new one, actually.  Our old school, uh…kinda had some problems,” answered red-streak-girl.  “Just wearin’ these till we get our new uniforms.  I…got kinda attached.”

“How about you two?” added her friend (girlfriend?), who was bouncing up and down in her seat.  “We ride this bus every day and we’ve never seen _you_ before!  I’d remember.  I’m no good with names but I’m _really_ good with faces!  Except sometimes.  Sometimes I miss stuff that’s _really_ obvious, like when we found out Ryuko’s mom was…!”

“Mako, _sshhh._   We said we weren’t gonna talk ‘bout that, _remember?_ ” she whispered in hushed, hasty tones.

Madoka had no idea what was going on there, but also knew better than to ask.

“We attend Mitakihara Middle School.  Normally we live within walking distance, but for this week we need to use the bus line,” said Homura, speaking for the first time in several minutes.  It was the terse, businesslike voice she seemed to use for just about everyone but Madoka – and a good amount of time, for Madoka as well.

“Oh, I’ve heard of that place!  We were almost gonna go there but then Ryuko’s sister who’s really really _really_ rich stepped in and we got bumped up to this awesome private school!  Which is good ‘cuz my daddy just got sued by this patient he stole a bunch of blood from so we’re broke as broke can get!” explained the other girl, who somehow managed to fit all of that into a single breath.

Their conversation continued in that vein for some time, until they finally reached the stop for Kaerun Academy – a private girl’s school Madoka had heard about, but never seen.

“Bye, new besties!” called out the girl in white as they shuffled off the bus, waving so hard she looked liable to dislocate her arm.  “Remember not to lose your way!  The bus route can be kinda confusing if you haven’t done it much before.  I remember this one time…!”

Madoka didn’t hear the rest, as the bus pulled away with a heavy, mechanical groan.

“Well…they were sure nice!” Madoka declared brightly, after a few moments of silence had passed.  “That’s what I like about trains and busses and stuff.  You never know who you’re gonna meet!”

“Madoka…” murmured Homura, her eyes on her lap.  “Can I ask you something?  It might seem like it’s coming out of nowhere, but…umm…”

Her words fell off, so Madoka said, “Of course, Homu-chan.  You can always ask me anything.”

“How…How did it…feel?” breathed out the raven-haired girl.  “When that other girl called you…uh… _cute?_ ”

The pink returned instantly to Madoka’s pale cheeks.  “Oh!  Oh, well…umm…” she stammered, wringing her fingers together anxiously.  “I mean…it’s not like I haven’t heard it before.  Plenty of people call me ‘cute.’  Can you blame them?  I still look like a grade-schooler.”

Madoka was sure she must’ve been imagining things, because she could almost _swear_ she heard Homura whisper under her breath, “…grade-schooler with a great ass…”

Ignoring her wild flights of fancy – though she was unable to keep the blush in her face from practically _tripling_ in intensity – the pink-haired girl found herself asking, “Why did you wanna know?”

Homura kept her eyes averted, but stated quietly, “It…It’s nothing.  I was just…curious, is all.”

Still, she didn’t seem to be in the mood to speak any further the rest of the bus trip.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Oh!  Kaname-san, Miki-san.  Did you have a pleasant weekend?” said Hitomi conversationally, as they all took their assigned seats.  Class wasn’t due to start for almost ten minutes, so students were still trickling in.

“Eh.  Would’ve been nicer if _someone_ hadn’t been hogging the TV all hours of the day,” hissed Sayaka, just loud enough that she could be heard a row away.

Like an actor answering a cue, Kyoko swiveled around in her chair, propping her legs over the back and leaning against her desk.

“Hey, I hafta plan ‘round the late-night anime _an’_ my gamin’.  Mosta my opponents are guys in America so I _gotta_ keep weird hours,” she explained defensively.  “Man, if they knew it was a schoolgirl in Japan creamin’ ‘em all the time!  But my tag’s _FemaleTitan9,_ so if they can’t figure it out it’s their own damn fault.”

“Our weekend was great!” exclaimed Madoka, clapping her hands together and steadfastly ignoring the roommate squabble unfolding right next to her.  “Wasn’t it, Homu-chan?  We had so much fun at my aunties’ place!”

Sayaka paused in the midst of shaking Kyoko by the collar, her mouth hanging open slightly.  “Hold on.  You stayed at your aunt’s this weekend?” she asked.  “That’s your dad’s sis, right?  The cop?”

Madoka nodded.  “We’ll be there all week.  Mama had a business trip in Europe,” she said.  “Thankfully, they both have time off, so they’re watching Tatsuya right now.”

“That’s nice of them.  Happy to hear it,” muttered Sayaka, though she didn’t really sound it.  For one thing, her eyes weren’t upon her childhood best friend – but on the brunette seated three rows ahead.  “And you invited _her_ along?  For a whole week?”

“Yes, she did,” Homura told her in a carrying voice, without turning around.  “Strange that I’m the first friend she asked, isn’t it?  The _only_ one, as seems to be the case.”

The blue-haired girl stood up from her desk, fists clenched.

“Sayaka-chan, stop trying to pick a fight with her!” interjected Madoka, her soft cheeks puffed out.  “And Homura-chan, quit antagonizing her back!  Can’t we all just be friends here?”

Homura didn’t react noticeably to these words – though since Madoka couldn’t see her face, she couldn’t be entirely sure.  Sayaka, however, gritted her teeth and nodded tensely.

“Okay…for _your_ sake,” she said after a few seconds.  “So what’d you guys get up to on this big happy trip, anyway?”

For the next couple of minutes, Madoka described as much as she could remember about the previous day.  She found herself running out of steam far more quickly than she’d anticipated, however; it seemed describing things like archery and bug-catching was far less interesting than actually doing them.

Unsure what else to add, she offered up, “I guess I was so tired from all that stuff that I completely passed out.  And then I had the craziest dream…”

A short while later, Sayaka was exclaiming, “ _What?!_   You dreamed you two were getting _shot_ at?!”

“Sounds like a sniper rifle ta me.  Not my fav class in a shooter, but I can handle it in a pinch,” commented Kyoko, who hadn’t bothered even slightly to hide her eavesdropping.  “Though it’s a dream, so I guess it doesn’t hafta follow any real-life gun logic.”

“I must say, it’s still a rather strange thing to dream about,” mused Hitomi, rubbing at her chin.  “I got rather into dream psychology a little while back.  Most of it’s probably nonsense, but… _hmm._   What does it mean when you dream you’re under sniper fire?  Here, give me a moment…”

She pulled out her phone and began searching something online.  A moment later, she continued, “Okay…it says here that if you dream of getting shot in a place, it means you subconsciously don’t feel safe there.  Does that apply to your aunt’s house?”

“No…not really…” mumbled Madoka, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.  “It’s a really safe neighborhood, and I trust my aunties completely.  I don’t think that matches up at all.”

“Alright, let’s try something more specific,” said Hitomi.  “Let’s see…‘getting shot from a _distance._ ’  That’s just an extreme version of being scared of the unexpected – stuff you don’t see coming.  Is there anything in your life right now that’s stressing you out, because you don’t know or understand something?”

Madoka thought for a moment, then nodded meekly.  “Yeah…I can kinda see that one,” she replied.  “But I dunno if any of this really applies.  I dreamed of…of _Homura-chan_ getting shot.  Not me.”

Hitomi frowned, looking thoughtful.  “Okay, okay…‘ _witnessing_ someone get shot’…nothing on this site.  Let me try another…” she went on, scrolling rapidly through the pages with her finger.  “This one says it could be a part of your mind trying to ‘kill’ another…you know, something you’ve been burying or pushing away.  Or it could be a message about the person _getting_ shot.  That you’re worried about them for some reason.”

The moment Madoka heard those words, something like relief flooded over her.  It all seemed rather obvious once she put it like that.

“That’s the one.  That’s gotta be it,” said the pink-haired girl, lowering her voice so only Hitomi and Sayaka – and a craned-over Kyoko – could overhear.  “To tell you the truth, I’ve been worried about Homura-chan for a while.  She seems so… _distant._   Withdrawn from the world.”

“She’s _always_ like that,” Sayaka pointed out.

“Exactly!” whispered Madoka, her expression growing so intensely serious it just became even _more_ adorable.  “Ever since we met, I’ve wanted to break through her shell.  She’s so cool…so amazing.  She deserves to be happier than she is right now.”

“Some people simply aren’t very sociable by nature,” stated Hitomi.  “You can’t force her to be something she’s not.”

“If that’s really her choice, then I’ll respect it,” Madoka answered with a nod.  “But I don’t think it’s that.  She…umm…well…”

She swallowed, and started again.  “She…told me some stuff.  About her home life,” she went on, nervously twiddling her thumbs together.  “I don’t think she _wants_ to be this cold and aloof.  I think she’s just lonely.”

“I expect you’re not comfortable sharing what you and she discussed?” asked Hitomi.  The pink-haired girl pouted, then slowly shook her head.

Sayaka crossed her arms.  “I guess…none of us _really_ know her all that well.  Or what she might be going through,” she said, sighing.  “So it couldn’t hurt to _try_ being a little nicer to her.”

“Well, ‘cept yer pride,” quipped Kyoko with a toothy grin.  “An’ ya got a _helluva_ lotta that ta hurt.”

The blue-haired girl thwacked her across the shoulder.

“So, Madoka…” Sayaka began, after a few beats.  She ignored an irate Kyoko holding up a fist and growling behind her.  “Is _that_ why you took her along to your aunt’s place?”

“I’m gonna figure her out.  No matter how long it takes,” Madoka confirmed with a nod, staring directly at the back of Homura’s long, flowing tresses.  “I’m going to figure out what it takes to make her smile, and I’ll do it.”

She took a long, deep breath, before finishing in a low voice, “…She means too much for me to do anything else.”

Madoka hadn’t the slightest idea that Homura had heard every word.

 

[--------------------]

 

Monday’s lessons proceeded largely without incident, besides the now-banal sight of Kazuko Saotome ranting for twenty minutes about not judging women over how they eat a chocolate cornet.

The first big surprise of the day came during their lunch break.  Per the traditions of their elementary school days, Madoka, Sayaka, and Hitomi took their food up to the rooftop, with an energetic Kyoko and a sullen Homura following in tow.

This time, however, their “usual spot” was already occupied.

“Hey…” said Sayaka, as their group stopped short.  “Aren’t you…?”

“Mami Tomoe.  Ninth grade, Hisau-sensei’s class,” the girl confirmed, sipping calmly from a can of tea.  “It’s good to see you again, Miki-san…Sakura-san.  And a pleasure to meet the rest of you.”

“Wow.  _Yer_ sure somethin’ else,” remarked Kyoko, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a smirk.  “We just ran inta each other in the store _yesterday._   No need ta make a big deal outta it.”

“My apologies.  I don’t think I’m really capable of speaking any less formally than this,” Mami replied, inclining her head to emphasize the point.  “Forgive me, but would it trouble you greatly if we ate together?  I packed altogether too many sandwiches today, and I wouldn’t want them going to waste.”

“Of course, Mami-sempai!” exclaimed Madoka, before any of them could say anything.  When she realized no one else was answering, her ears went red, and she took a step back.  “I mean…if it’s okay with everyone…”

“I have no objections,” said Homura tonelessly, though she seemed to be looking at the blonde somewhat strangely.  The other three girls glanced at each other, then either nodded or shrugged their shoulders.

“My name is Hitomi Shizuki.  This is Madoka Kaname, and over there is Homura Akemi,” the green-haired girl introduced herself as they took their seats.  “Forgive me…but are you perchance related to the late senator, Mikage Tomoe?”

“My mother,” stated Mami, wearing a small, cool smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “Until the accident, of course.”

“Oh…I’m very sorry.  I should’ve realized this could be an uncomfortable subject,” Hitomi responded quickly, looking deeply chastised.  “I only asked because our families were well-connected, back in the day.  My father was one of her largest campaign donors.”

“I’m afraid I was too young at the time to understand much of her political career,” Mami told the other girl.  “But please, don’t worry yourself.  At this point, it’s over three years in the past.  The wound will never quite heal…but it is no longer raw.”

Her smile brightened.  “But look at me, being so depressing,” she added, opening up a double-decker lunchbox filled with immaculately crafted sandwiches.  “Please, take some.  And feel free to discuss something a little less morbid.”

But conversation topics seemed to elude the girls, if mostly because their first bites of the sandwiches managed to blast everything else out of their minds.

They were an incredibly fancy affair, with so many gourmet ingredients layered on top of each other it was overwhelming.  Kyoko, the closest thing the group had to a gourmand, was the first to recover enough to identify them.

“Prosciutto…goat cheese…watercress…think the base o’ the puree is mango.  An’… _damn,_ are those _quail_ eggs?  Ya really went all out, blondie!” she said, in between bites.  “Puts my bentos ta shame, that’s fer damn sure.”

Sayaka however, who currently had a mouthful of _both_ sandwich and her roommate’s _mochiko_ chicken, shook her head vigorously.

She didn’t say anything – her cheeks were rather too full to – but the expression on her face wasn’t difficult to read.

Curious, Madoka took a small, dainty bite from her sandwich, and then another from the edge of Sayaka’s bento box.  And very nearly fell off her seat, shivering at the jaw-dropping flavor combination.

“So…So _goooooood_ …” she moaned, her hands upon her cheeks in a display of utter bliss.

That did it; soon enough, the entire group were pulling out their lunches and sharing bites with each other, curious to see if they could hit on the same kind of reaction.  Particularly popular was mixing Mami’s mango puree with the fried tofu Hitomi had brought, which had Kyoko swearing ten times in half that many seconds when she first tried it.

The only exception was Homura.  While she’d accepted half a sandwich with a perfunctory, “Thank you,” she’d barely taken three bites from it all this time, simply sitting and surveying the sharing session in silence.

“Mami Tomoe,” she eventually spoke up, surprising the others.  It was only noticeable because she was ordinarily so stoic, but there was just the slightest edge to the way she said the name.  “What exactly are you doing here?  I know it’s not a coincidence we just happened to run into you.”

“Homura-chan, that’s rude!” said Madoka, but the blonde held up a hand.

“No…she’s right.  I’m afraid I had an ulterior motive for coming up here,” Mami admitted, her smile half-fading again.  She folded her hands in her lap and cleared her throat.  “Sakura-san, in the store yesterday, you seemed to…know me, somehow.  And I know this’ll sound strange, but I think I know you as well.  _All_ of you.”

Kyoko raised an eyebrow.  “Yer right.  That _does_ sound strange,” she declared.  “An’ a little creepy.”

“The odd thing is, I can’t remember _meeting_ you.  I can’t really remember interacting with… _any_ of my peers at this school, to tell the truth,” the older girl attempted to explain.  “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.  And I can’t think of any other explanation for some of the things I know.”

Mami began turning to each of them, one after the other.

“Sakura-san, I know you consider wasting food to be a personal insult.  Miki-san, I know _The Little Mermaid_ was your favorite fairy tale when you were little,” she continued on.  “Kaname-san, I know you always carry a box of band-aids in your bag, just in case you trip and fall.  And Akemi-san, I know your favorite food is pumpkin, even though you really _hate_ pumpkin pie.”

Finally, she bowed her head toward Hitomi.  “The only one I’m having trouble recalling much about is you, Shizuki-san.  And yet I’m _certain_ we’ve crossed paths more than once,” she said apologetically.  “But the rest of you…I don’t know.  I don’t know what this _is._   I’m sure it doesn’t make sense to you, because it doesn’t make sense to _me!_   And I _need_ it to!  It’s driving me crazy!”

“Mami-sempai, calm down,” Sayaka instructed her senior, now looking rather alarmed.  “There’s no reason to get all bent out of shape.”

“That’s because _you_ haven’t been dealing with this!” exclaimed Mami, her voice fast growing hysterical.  She took a few steps back from the group, clutching at herself.  “For three whole years!  Blacking out, losing time…it’s hard to tell apart what’s real and what’s not!  It’s all a blur!  And…And…!”

She swallowed, before sinking to her knees, her yellow eyes wet and shimmering.

“And yet…somehow, I _know._   I know that whatever I’ve lost, it’s centered on _you_ girls,” she finished, her breaths shallow and erratic.  “I know it’s not fair to put this all on you…but please.  _Please._   Help me…”

Then, without warning, she collapsed into unconsciousness.

 

[--------------------]

 

When Mami Tomoe next blinked awake, she found herself surrounded on all sides by soft, baby-blue curtains.

“Where…Where am I…?” she said hoarsely, fluttering her eyes through heavy exhaustion.

“Oh God, did you hear that?  She’s awake!” Mami overheard someone shout.  A moment later, the curtains were pulled to the side, and her gaze fell upon a pair of worried, rose-pink eyes.

Bright light assailed Mami’s bleary vision the moment the curtains opened, revealing a room that was almost entirely white – save for a few educational posters about flu shots and STIs here and there.  While she’d never had occasion to visit this particular part of the school, it wasn’t hard to deduce the identity of this room.

By the time the ninth-grader regained her bearings, Madoka had been joined by her four classmates, as well as an older woman in a white coat who could only be the school nurse.

“Kaname-san tells me that you collapsed on the roof.  Fortunately, she’s quite the competent nurse’s aide,” she told Mami with a smile.  “But don’t worry.  Based on the story your friends shared, I think this was nothing more than an acute case of stress.  Still, I’d like you to stay here and rest for a bit, just to be sure.”

Mami nodded, a little groggily.

“I’ll give you six some privacy while I write up my notes,” added the nurse, excusing herself to a small office in the corner.  “This room is soundproofed to maintain confidentiality, so just tap on the window if you need me.”

The moment the nurse’s door closed shut, Kyoko stomped her foot and demanded, “The hell ya think yer playin’ at, blondie?  Ya scared us half ta death with that little stunt!”

Sayaka stepped forward and yanked on her roommate’s ponytail out of irritation.  “Don’t think she did it on _purpose,_ genius,” she said.  “Mami-sempai, everything’s gonna be fine.  You’re safe here.”

“ _Safe_ …” repeated Mami, the word coming out dull and muted – as if it didn’t feel quite right on her tongue.  “You…have no idea how much I _want_ that.  To believe that.  I…I don’t know if I can anymore.”

“You’re so serious, Tomoe-san,” murmured Hitomi, frowning with concern.  “Is there really something going on that warrants all this?”

Mami rolled over in her bed, tears welting up in her sun-gold eyes.

“I…” she gasped out, fists clenching at her blankets.  “I don’t know.  I can’t _think_ of anything, but…”

She swallowed, hard.

“Maybe it’s in one of those blank spaces in my memory.  Like a diary with pages torn out,” she continued.  “How would I know?  How _could_ I know?  But…even if I can’t explain it…”

The older girl hesitantly reached out her hand.  In the next moment, Madoka and Sayaka had both taken it.

Mami allowed herself a small, solemn smile.  “The thing is…even without the memories that back it up, I know how I _feel._   How my whole _body_ feels,” she said.  “And it’s like, when my heart is pounding…when my blood is pumping…when I can barely even _breathe,_ everything feels like it’s…it’s…”

“About to crash?” guessed Sayaka, speaking more from experience than she’d have liked to admit.  But Mami shook her head.

“… _Normal,_ ” she finished, taking all but Homura visibly aback.

“Hold the phone.  Then give the phone ta me,” interjected Kyoko.  “Yer sayin’ when yer body goes all Spiral Nemesis on ya, that feels _normal?_ ”

“Maybe not _normal,_ exactly, but…” Mami tried to answer.  “But every time I feel like I’m in danger, or anxious, or scared…it’s like déjà vu.  Like it’s… _familiar._   That doesn’t mean I’m _used_ to it – you saw proof of that on the roof – but it seems like something I’ve experienced dozens of times before.  _Hundreds._ ”

She took a deep, steadying breath.

“All the time, it feels like I’m a step away from getting attacked.  When I’ve never even _seen_ a battlefield,” she whispered.  “If I was a soldier, or a police officer, or something like that…maybe these feelings would make sense.  But I’m not.  I’m just a girl.  A…normal…girl…”

But those last few words weren’t entirely phrased as a statement.  There was a bit of a lilt to them as her voice trailed off – as if they were at least partially a question.

“Mami-sempai…” said Madoka, looking a little surprised at her own daring for being the one to speak up.  “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through.  And maybe it’d help to talk to someone who knows this stuff a little better than me.  But…”

The pink-haired girl straightened her posture, and took on a more confident expression.

“I’ve been really worried lately too, about…about someone,” she went on, her eyes briefly flitting to the side.  “And it helped so much just to talk it out with a couple friends.  If you don’t have anyone to speak with…then we’re here.  You don’t have to be afraid of anything anymore – because you’re not alone anymore!”

“Yeah, blondie.  No need ta lose yer head,” added Kyoko, grinning toothily.

For just a moment, Mami’s eyes went wide, as the familiar sensation of irrational and inexplicable panic bubbled up within her.  But it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You’re so kind to me, Kaname-chan.  All of you,” she spoke softly, eyes sinking into a half-lidded state.  “Especially since we just met.  But really, you should all be getting back to class.  I think I’ll take the nurse’s advice, and…rest for a bit…”

“Uh…if you’re sure, Mami-sempai,” responded Sayaka, though she didn’t seem entirely convinced.

Still, after a few moments, the eighth-graders began filing out of the nurse’s office, each tossing off friendly waves and words of encouragement (or a snorted “Smell ya later!” in Kyoko’s case) as they departed.  One last smile played upon Mami’s lips as she felt herself begin to drift off.

At least until a hand grabbed a tight hold around her shoulder.

“Mami Tomoe,” said Homura, who’d evidently slipped away from the group and doubled back.  “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

It was the same question Kyoko had opened with several minutes prior – albeit, with proper grammar and enunciation.  But where the redhead’s tone had been jibing and playful, Homura sounded like she’d never been so serious about anything in her entire life.

With no idea how else to respond, Mami found herself mumbling, “Wh…What do you…?”

“Save it,” snapped the brunette, cutting her off with a knife-sharp glare.  “There’s only a few of us that use guns…and even fewer who could’ve pieced things together enough to target me.  You’re the obvious suspect.”

Mami trembled with fear under the younger girl’s severe gaze.  “I’m sorry, Akemi-san,” she replied in a tiny voice.  “I…I _really_ don’t know what you mean…”

Homura’s deep purple eyes continued to bore into her golden ones.  Then, after several uncomfortable seconds, her expression softened – just slightly.

“You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” she said, mostly to herself.  “But then… _who_ …”

The blonde waited a few moments for the other girl to elaborate, but she never did.  Instead, in an idle voice, she asked, “You’re taking care of a little girl right now?  Nagisa Momoe?”

“Y…Yes…” murmured Mami hesitantly.  “But…how do you…?”

“I may need to pay her a visit,” Homura declared, talking over her.  “But that can wait.  I have bigger concerns right now.”

As she said this, she was staring out the window with remarkable intensity.  Mami got the uncomfortable feeling that even if she _could_ move her head high enough to match Homura’s gaze…she wouldn’t be able to see what the younger girl saw.

The only clue she had were the final words she heard, before the tendrils of slumber finally claimed her.

“You won’t touch her.  You _can’t_ touch her,” said Homura, her tones stark and biting.

“I _won’t_ allow it.”

 

[--------------------]

 

The nurse wrapped up her progress notes and took another glance through her office window.  Most of those sweet girls who’d brought in the patient had already left, while Miss Tomoe herself appeared to be taking a nap.

Only one of the girls remained – the black-haired one, who was leaning up against the window to the outside and looking pensive.

The older woman smiled ruefully.  Either she was an uncommonly devoted friend…or, more likely, she was using this as an excuse to skip class.

Still, there was only one period left in the day, so she couldn’t really see too much harm in it.  Shrugging her shoulders, she saved the document she’d been working on and then fished around in her purse, before pulling out a crisp new _tankōbon_ volume.

Manga was her guilty pleasure on slow days like this; surely, it couldn’t hurt to take a quick break and read a chapter or two.  The brunette would doubtlessly alert her if anything was amiss.

“Manga adaptations of anime-first shows can be… _iffy,_ ” she said to herself, as she turned over the cover.  “Let’s see how well it translates to the page.”

She flipped to the first page, and read aloud, “Chapter One… _If Only I Had Thorns Like a Thistle_ …”


	5. I Think I'm in Trouble

_“It’s coming tomorrow.  You know that, right?”_

_The question lingered in the air for several moments, unanswered.  It didn’t really need to be.  Homura had only asked it to fill the time._

_Those short, fleeting few hours left until the clock rang in April 30…_

_And the arrival of the Night of Walpurgis._

_They’d spent the past week doing nothing_ but _planning for the coming battle.  That horrid night that Sayaka had become a Witch – and Mami’s unexpected, tragic reaction – had ensured that they were the only two Magical Girls left in Mitakihara City._

_And now that they knew Kyubey was nothing but a manipulative liar…that Homura had been telling the truth all along…_

_There was no_ chance _they’d allow him to bring another innocent into this monstrous hell._

_The two of them were alone.  Together, they’d defeat the most powerful Witch of all time._

_Or die trying._

_“Homura-chan…” said Madoka after a while, her voice very tiny.  “I know I said I was ready to face Walpurgisnacht.  And…And I won’t run away, but…”_

_“You’re scared,” the brunette finished for her.  The two of them were laying side by side on the floor of Homura’s apartment, half-sketched battle diagrams and scratched-out stratagems strewn around them.  “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t too.”_

_The pink-haired girl turned over on her side, facing her friend with quivering lips._

_“How do you keep it together so well?” she asked.  “I think about what’s coming and…and I just want to crawl up in a corner, and cover my ears…”_

_Homura rolled over as well – without realizing this would end up placing their faces mere inches from each other.  She blushed, but didn’t move back._

_“Honestly…I cheat,” she told Madoka, eyes shimmering behind her thick glasses.  “I’m just copying someone else.  I’m not strong on my own, not at all.”_

_“Who?” the other girl whispered the obvious question._

_Homura immediately looked askance, unsure whether she should answer.  But after a few moments of silence, she swallowed, and forced her gaze to meet Madoka’s again._

_And said, in a very quiet voice, “…You.”_

_What followed was a hesitant, stammered explanation that this was not the first time the two of them had met – or even the second._

_Of all that’d unfolded in that very first timeline, where it’d just been Mami and Madoka…and where Homura herself had been a nobody, weak and completely useless.  Of the tragic way she’d learned the truth about the Magical Girl system, the_ last _time they’d confronted Walpurgisnacht together._

_Of what Madoka herself would one day become._

_“That’s why I tried to warn you all, this time around,” Homura continued on, her expression trembling.  “But I left out the most important part…_ how _I knew.  I thought that if I said I was from the future, I’d sound crazy.  That you’d never believe me about Kyubey.  Heh…fat lot of good_ that _did…”_

_“I’m sorry we didn’t listen, Homura-chan.  N…Not until it was too late…” mumbled Madoka, tears beginning to well up beneath her soft, pink irises.  “If we had, then maybe Sayaka-chan…Kyoko-chan…M…Mami-sempai…”_

_Their mentor’s name was particularly hard for her lips to form.  She was still haunted, every waking moment, by what she’d done that night._

_It’d been necessary, she knew.  A split-second decision to save Homura’s life.  But the fact remained: they_ knew _now that shattering a girl’s Soul Gem was murder._

_And she’d done it anyway._

_“We can’t look back.  We don’t have a choice,” said Homura.  Without thinking, she reached out and clasped both her hands around Madoka’s.  “This mission is all we have left.  We have to save the city.  We_ have _to stop Walpurgisnacht, here and now.”_

_Madoka’s tears were flowing freely now, but slowly, she nodded.  Homura moved to release her palms, but Madoka’s other hand reached over, holding them in place._

_“Will you stay close to me, like this?” she asked softly.  “Until the time comes?”_

_“If…If it’s for you…” murmured the bespectacled girl.  “Then I’ll do anything, Kaname-san.”_

_That was all the invitation Madoka needed to wrap her arms around her friend, pulling them into an even closer embrace.  Homura’s cheeks burned hot again, but she didn’t jerk away._

_Despite everything, a slight smile played upon Madoka’s lips.  “After all this…” she responded, nuzzling her own cheek for just a moment against the other girl’s.  “You still won’t call me by my first name?”_

_“W…Well…if it bothers you…” she started to say, but the pink-haired girl quietly shook her head._

_“It’s okay,” Madoka told her – smile still upon her lips, and tearstains still upon her cheeks.  “Because it’s you, Homura-chan.”_

_For the next few hours, those were the last words they spoke.  They simply held each other, watching the clock.  And waiting._

_Together._

[--------------------]

 

“Madoka.  Madoka, wake up.”

The middle-schooler was being shaken awake by someone – or something.  Their grip on her shoulder was gentle but firm.

Somehow, before her senses managed to catch up, she _knew_ it was Homura Akemi.

“Come, Madoka,” she was saying, helping the pink-haired girl to her feet.  “You fell asleep on the bus, but we’re at our stop now.  Let’s get going.”

As her faculties slowly returned to her, Madoka realized that she was right – and that the driver and most of the other passengers were staring at her, with varying degrees of impatience.

Instinctively, Madoka bowed low.  “I apologize for making you all wait,” she pronounced, feeling mortified.  “I hope I didn’t inconvenience you all too much with my rudeness.”

An old man with liver spots raised a cane and shook it in the air.  “If yer really sorry, then quit yappin’ and get movin’!” he exclaimed harshly.

Mortified, Madoka allowed herself to be led off the bus by the hand.

“Did you have a good nap, Madoka?” asked the brunette as the vehicle pulled away.  “I thought about waking you earlier, but…it seemed like you needed the rest.”

Madoka shook her head.  “I…I’m not really sure, to tell you the truth,” she replied, involuntarily punctuating the point by yawning.  “I think I was having another crazy dream, but…”

She wracked her brain as hard as she could, but ultimately came up short.  A frustrated groan bubbled up from her throat.

“ _Urgh_ …it’s no good.  I can’t remember at all,” she said.  “And after all that time we spent analyzing my _last_ dream!  Honestly, it’s kinda weird I still recall it so clearly.  Most of my dreams are like this one…they’re out of my head the second I wake up.”

Now that they were walking along the narrow road that led to the Inoue-Kunizuka estate, Homura moved to release her grip on Madoka’s hand.  But to her surprise, Madoka held on tighter.

“Except…Except one thing,” she added in a low voice, as a dim sense of familiarity washed over her.  “I’m pretty sure you were in this dream too.  I’m pretty sure…you’ve been in a _lot_ of my dreams lately.”

“Madoka…” the brunette gasped out.

“Just remember, Homu-chan…” muttered the pink-haired girl, smiling brightly.  “You’re one of my best friends in the world, even if we haven’t known each other that long.  I never want to take you for granted…or make you feel like there’s anything you can’t talk to me about.  I…I care for you, so much.  I don’t ever wanna see you sad…if there’s something I can do to make you happy again.”

“Madoka…” said Homura again, just as breathlessly.  “Can I ask you a question?”

The other girl’s smile fell slightly at the moroseness in her tone, but she answered, “Of course.”

“This is…just a hypothetical.  A ‘what if.’  But…” the raven-haired girl went on, looking askance.  “But would you still feel the same way…if I wasn’t who you thought I was?”

There was a hitch in Homura’s throat as words continued to tumble from them, their pace harried despite a concerted attempt to deprive them of any emotion.

“What if I’d been lying to you from the day we first met?” she whispered, through gritted teeth.  “What if I’d done… _horrible_ things to you?  Unforgivable things?  Things I _knew_ were wrong, and I still did them because I convinced myself they were for _your_ sake?  And because…”

She swallowed, hard, and finally choked out, “…Because you’re the only thing I have left to guide me?”

Madoka’s steps halted, and Homura stopped with her.  Her face was downcast, so the brunette couldn’t read her expression.

Then, another gasp of surprise escaped her lips, as Madoka pulled her into a tight hug.

“ _If_ that was all true…” said the pink-haired girl, burying her face against the other girl’s shoulder.  “Then I’d ask you to explain yourself.  And then…I’d forgive you.  Because you’re my friend, Homu-chan.  And nothing’s gonna change that.”

“Madoka…” Homura repeated, one last time – even softer than before.  “I…alright then.  But on one condition.  You need to promise me this, Madoka.”

Their cheeks brushed up against one another’s, and yet again, Madoka felt an intense wave of something like déjà vu.  Like a snippet of a song she’d once half-heard.

Had _this_ been in her dream, too?

“Promise me…that you’ll never give up your kindness,” continued the raven-haired girl.  “That you’ll never let _anyone_ tell you it makes you weak, or stupid, or naïve.  That it’s _anything_ but your greatest strength…and the strongest thing I’ve _ever_ seen.”

As they slowly pulled apart, Homura finally met Madoka’s gaze with full force…and saw that her smile had only widened.

“Okay.  But promise me this in return,” she said.  “That before this week is done…you’ll tell me what you’ve been bottling up inside.  You don’t have to tell me everything.  You don’t have to share anything you’re not comfortable with.  But…I want you to let me in, even if it’s just a little.  So I can do everything I just said I would.”

Homura either didn’t have, or couldn’t manage to verbalize, a response to this.  She just continued to stare at the other girl, vaguely stunned.

“If there’s a burden on your shoulders, Homu-chan…then let me help lift it,” were her final, murmured words.  “After all…how can I begin to forgive you…”

Their fingers still laced together, she resumed walking forward, guiding Homura alongside her.

“…If I don’t know what you think you did wrong?”

 

[--------------------]

 

Kyoko Sakura strode into the empty Miki residence with a pronounced swagger, still deep in discussion with her roommate.

“Man, that Mami chick sure is two apples shortuva barrel,” she said, emphasizing the point by taking a big, noisy crunch out of a bright red one on the countertop.  “I know I’m awesome, but I ain’t no shrink.  None o’ us are.  She _needs_ ta get checked by a pro.”

“There’s nicer ways to say that, y’know,” Sayaka declared irritably, setting down her book-bag to the side of the door – and then quickly doing the same with Kyoko’s, which she’d tossed onto the couch without a care in the world, per usual.

She sighed, too tired to follow up with a customary thwack.  “That being said…you do have a point,” she admitted, after a few moments.  “But therapy’s expensive, and I dunno if Tomoe-san has that kinda money.  She said she was an orphan, right?”

Kyoko shrugged her shoulders as she planted herself down upon the now-empty couch.  “Search me,” she replied.  “I dunno any more ‘bout blondie than you.”

“But…somehow, you knew her last name.  And she knew yours – _before_ either of you brought it up,” mused the blue-haired girl, tapping at her chin.  “And not just that.  Everything she was saying on the rooftop…”

“My hatin’ people who waste food ain’t exactly a secret.  You saw how I went off on that guy in the cafeteria las’ week,” Kyoko reminded her roommate.  “Rumors probably started flyin’ the second I tossed his dumb ass in the dumpster.”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t anything _worse_ than rumors…” said Sayaka, sighing again as she sat down next to the redhead.  “That’s not all, though.  I can’t speak for Akemi, but she was right on target with Madoka.  And…me too.  I really _do_ love _The Little Mermaid._   But I’m pretty sure I haven’t told _anybody_ that, except Madoka and Hitomi.”

Kyoko grinned toothily.  “Well hey, if singin’ crabs an’ drag queen witches really float yer boat, no judgment here,” she remarked with a wink.

“Not _that_ Little Mermaid,” Sayaka groaned.  “The original fairy tale.  I used to read it over and over when I was little.  I thought it was _so_ amazing.  Really sad, sure…but amazing.”

“Only Fairy Tail I follow is a guild in Fiore,” stated Kyoko, shrugging again.  “But hey, like I said.  Whatever floats yer boat.”

“I just feel like I’m missing something big here,” mumbled Sayaka, both hands over her face as she reclined against the cushions.  “And that’s never fun.  But… _gah,_ I dunno.  I just can’t think right now.  I need a distraction for a bit before jumping on homework.  Kyoko, you have my official – if temporary – permission to indulge in something dumb and mindless.”

“Dumb an’ mindless, huh?” said the redhead, and Sayaka didn’t like the smirk now spreading over her face.  “Let’s see…anime, video games, one o’ those American action movies where half the cast’re CGI explosions…got a lotta options.  Or…ooh, got one _other_ thing ya could indulge in that’s _dumb_ an’ _mindless_ …”

As if the sultry tone she’d used for those last few words wasn’t suggestive enough, she made a show of undoing the ribbon that topped her school uniform.

But Sayaka just rolled her eyes.  “Not a nice thing to call yourself, y’know,” she commented dryly.

It was all she could think to say to cover up the fact that her heart had just skipped a few beats.

Kyoko, for her part, shoved the blue-haired girl playfully.  “Ah, screw you!” she tossed back.  “I was talkin’ ‘bout the _sex_ bein’ dumb an’ mindless.  Not _me,_ ya dick.”

“Either way, I’m gonna have to decline,” said Sayaka, who was presently making a concerted effort for her imagination _not_ to run wild with that particular mental image.  “Anyway, out of those choices…I’ll pick gaming.  Something co-op, not competitive.  I’m not really in the mood to go full-tilt right now.”

“If yer not gonna put in a hundred percent, why would I want ya on _my_ team?” Kyoko teased, even as she was popping a disc out of its casing and inserting it into Sayaka’s Wii U.  “Alright…you can be Jeanne.  Jus’ don’t slow me down _too_ much.  If I want that secret Rodin fight, momma needs _hella_ Halos!”

“I understood maybe one quarter of that,” responded Sayaka.  “But fine, whatever.  What were the controls again?  It’s been a while.”

Kyoko exhaled wearily.  “Okay, listen close, ‘cuz I’m only gonna say this _one_ more time,” she began to explain, shoving the controller in Sayaka’s hands and pointing to each input at a rapid-fire pace.  “X is punch moves, A is kick moves, string ‘em together fer combos.  B is jump, Y interacts with shit.  Move with left stick, camera with right.  ZL locks on, ZR dodges, dodge at the las’ second ta trigger Witch Time.  L activates Umbran Climax when yer meter’s full, R switches weapons.  D-Pad’s fer items.  Clickin’ in left stick taunts, right ta re-center the camera, but I doubt you’ll do those much.  Those’re the basics.”

There was a pause, as the blue-haired girl blinked back at her roommate.

Then, scratching her cheek awkwardly, she asked, “Err…can I just use the touchscreen controls?  Those were easier.”

Kyoko just shook her head, her disgust plainly evident.

“God…just when ya think ya know a girl,” she said, letting out another deep breath.  “All the gamers in all the world, an’ I get stuck roomin’ with a _filthy casual._ ”

 

[--------------------]

 

After how heavy and personal their earlier conversation had gotten, Homura was quite grateful that her discussions with Madoka had devolved into small talk by the time they reached their destination.

Inwardly, she chastised herself for about the hundredth time for her stupidity.  There was _no_ logical reason why she should’ve blurted out so much, with so little prompting.

But then…there it was.  Madoka was the one thing that forced her to utterly _abandon_ all logic; all reason.  Paradoxically, it was for her sake that Homura needed to approach her mission with a tact that was stoic, objective, unemotional…

And it was because of her that the brunette never _could._

There’d always been a part of her, as far back as the first handful of timelines, _yearning_ to tell Madoka everything.  To spill out her very heart and soul to the one girl in the universe kind enough to listen.

In some time flows, the urge was like a dam fit to bursting, the more rational parts of her mind darting around to plug up holes whenever Madoka caught her off guard with an unexpected compliment or question.

After all this time, after what she’d _become,_ Homura had thought she was past all this.  That she was strong enough to keep a tight lip over the secrets Madoka simply wasn’t prepared to hear – of which there were now more than ever.

But she wasn’t.  No matter how things changed, she _never_ would be.  She’d catch a glimpse of Madoka’s disarming smile and she’d be that same timid, nerdy, talentless wallflower, who’d transferred into Mitakihara Middle School without ever having a single person tell her they loved her.

And who’d then been offered a beckoning hand by a kind, sweet girl, who told her she should flare up as passionately as her name.

“What do you think, Homu-chan?” asked Madoka, snapping her out of her reverie.  “Homu-chan, were you listening?”

“Apologies, Madoka.  I…drifted off, for a moment,” said Homura, shaking her head briefly.  “Could you possibly repeat the question?”

Homura almost hated how _adorable_ Madoka looked, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance.  The nigh-saintly girl got upset so infrequently that seeing it actually felt like something of a treat.

“Well, what I _said_ was…” she answered, after taking a deep breath to calm herself.  Irritation was a necessarily fleeting mood for the pink-haired girl.  “I hope my aunties don’t mind us getting back over an hour before I said we would.  I didn’t realize gardening club would get cancelled.”

The brunette shrugged her shoulders.  “You called _and_ emailed ahead.  It isn’t your fault if your aunt didn’t pick up,” she stated indifferently.

“I know.  I’m just a little antsy.  Auntie Akane pretty much _always_ picks up her phone,” Madoka explained.  “What if something happened?  Ever since last night…I mean, I know it’s not rational to worry over a _dream,_ but…”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Madoka,” said Homura, placing a reassuring hand across her back.  “But if it makes you feel more comfortable, we can pick up the pace a bit.”

Madoka returned the sentiment with a cheery smile.  “I’m so lucky to have you here, Homu-chan,” she responded.  “Anyone else would’ve just said I was being stupid.”

The two of them continued on to the Inoue-Kunizuka residence at a slightly more hurried gait, chatting along all the while.  They discussed what might take place at the next meetings of the gardening and crafts clubs – both of which Homura had joined in order to keep a closer eye on Madoka, despite having absolutely zero interest in either subject.

Once those speculations were exhausted, the topic turned to the manga Homura had borrowed from her the other week.  This _was,_ in fact, a subject the raven-haired girl had a keen interest in pursuing…

But one which she needed to proceed around cautiously.

“I _did_ very much enjoy the volume.  Thank you for sharing it with me.  But…umm, Madoka…” Homura told the other girl, choosing her words carefully.  “You do know what… _genre_ that story was, right?”

Madoka titled her head to the side, looking confused.  “Umm…yeah.  Slice of life, isn’t it?” she half-answered, half-asked.  “That’s my favorite kind of manga.  I’m not really…a big fan of stories with a bunch of action and fighting and stuff…”

“Yes, well…” said Homura, trying not to sound nearly as awkward as she felt.  “I mean that…it’s a particular _type_ of slice of life.  One that publisher happens to specialize in.”

The pink-haired girl blinked a couple times, her expression blank.  Then, unexpectedly, she placed one hand over her face and tilted her head back.

“ _Oooooooooh._   So _that’s_ what you mean!” she breathed out.  “You mean that it’s a _yuri_ manga.  Yeah, sure, I know!  My dad has a ton.  _Yaoi_ too.”

No one with the level of power Homura Akemi wielded should’ve looked as slack-jawed as she did in that moment.  She barely noticed that they’d finally arrived at their destination.

“C’mon, Homu-chan.  Give me _some_ credit,” continued Madoka, after several moments passed without Homura offering a reply.  “I may not know anything about real-life romance, but I know what it means when two people are _that_ close.  No matter what gender they are.”

“And, umm…when you read that…” muttered Homura, feeling more like her bespectacled former self than she had in well over a decade.  “How does it make you, y’know… _feel?_ ”

Madoka’s response was immediate and enthusiastic.  “Wonderful!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together and looking starry-eyed.  “I told you last night, Homu-chan…love is love.  It doesn’t matter if it’s girls, or guys, or whatever.  Every time I see it, it makes me happy.”

As she spoke these words, she was sliding open the front door to the house, not giving any thought to the fact that it was unlocked.

Then, the two girls crossed the threshold…

And Madoka saw something that made her freeze up utterly.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Mascarpone!  Mascarpone!” squealed Nagisa Momoe, drool practically falling from her lips as she stared unblinkingly through the glass dessert cover.

Mami smiled indulgently as she used a large knife to cut up carrots and celery for a salad.  “Now, now, Nagisa-chan.  You get to have the tiramisu _after_ dinner,” she said.  “For now, go wash up.  It should be ready in just a few minutes.”

The younger girl pouted a bit, but ultimately nodded.  “If you say so, Onee-san,” she replied brightly, before toddling off to the bathroom.

In spite of herself, Mami felt her grin widen even further.  The term was a loaded one, and had definitely taken some getting used to…

But she still felt a burst of warmth in her heart whenever she heard it.

It was nice to come home to a situation that was so… _uncomplicated,_ time and again.  Nagisa’s needs were simple and easy to anticipate – realistically, about ninety percent of issues could be solved simply by having cheese on hand – and so long as those were met, Mami felt a reassuring _lack_ of pressure in the white-haired girl’s presence.

With Nagisa there were no masks, no false fronts; no obligation to be anything but the doting “big sis” to a girl _desperately_ in need of one.

And after a day like today, that was a _very_ welcome role to fill.

There was no sense beating around the bush.  Her decision to confront Sayaka Miki, Kyoko Sakura, and the rest – one she’d been anticipating and obsessing over all weekend – had turned out to be…

Well, the kindest word was “fiasco.”

She couldn’t even _imagine_ what those four girls must think of her now.  Within a few minutes of meeting, she’d all but poured out her heart and soul to them; growing so hysterical that she’d actually _fainted._

Ever since the accident, Mami had spent every waking moment honing and practicing the fine art of keeping up appearances.  She didn’t have any real “friends” at school, such as they were, but even students she barely knew could recognize “Mami Tomoe of class 3-E” on sight.

The wise and responsible upperclassman.  The girl you could always come to for advice on math problems or where to find the spare key for the gym supply room.  She’d been entered for class president last year and come within a dozen votes of winning, without even being aware she was _running._

But of course, she didn’t have things “put together” anywhere _near_ as much as everyone seemed to think.  She was a good actress; that was it.

No one knew that these days, she went to bed half the time crying.

No one…except Nagisa.  Nagisa saw, and Nagisa didn’t _care._   So long as Mami was there for her, to provide food and baths and warm hugs, Mami could be human around her as much as she wanted.

And that’s all Mami really needed.  To be able to feel like she was _human_ again.

In a similar way, from one strange perspective she was almost _glad_ she’d lost it so hard around the other girls that day.  She’d unleashed on them a bucketful of crazy, and while a couple had clearly been weirded out by it…

None of them had taken the chance while she was unconscious to walk away.

Mami thought she had a pretty good grasp on Miss Shizuki, Miss Miki, and Miss Sakura – even if she still couldn’t explain the slight tug at her heart every time her thoughts turned toward the latter – but the other two still provoked burning questions in her mind.

Madoka Kaname had taken the surprising kindness and understanding of the younger girls, and blown it up to nearly _saintlike_ proportions.  Taking her to the nurse had been one thing, but the things the pink-haired girl had said _afterward?_   Offering a listening ear and a comforting shoulder to a girl she’d met less than an hour prior, completely unconditionally?

It was almost enough to make Mami _wish_ she could find a trace of pretense or insincerity in the eighth-grader’s words.  People that kind simply didn’t _exist,_ and when they did, the world always seemed to conspire to bring them fallow.

But nothing about Miss Kaname’s demeanor suggested that she was anything but _exactly_ what she appeared to be.  A girl who was noble, and compassionate, and honest.

Simply because it was the right thing to do.

And then, at the opposite end of the spectrum…there was Homura Akemi.

Mami still didn’t know _what_ to make of their confrontation in the nurse’s office.  Homura had seemed to be accusing her of… _something_ or another – and based on her tone, something severe – but she’d refused to elaborate in any way, and Mami hadn’t seen her since.

She couldn’t _imagine_ what the brunette must’ve been alluding to, but she had a sinking feeling that perhaps she wasn’t as innocent as she’d claimed to be.

After all, her memory had blank spots – going back three entire _years._   Who was to say she hadn’t done something to hurt the other girl, in all that time?

How would she _know?_

The mere possibility was nearly enough to make her physically ill.

Mami shook her head, trying to clear it.  There was no point traveling down that path without solid proof.  Maybe Miss Akemi really _was_ mistaken, and this mystery-crime was the work of another.  In that case, she’d be worrying over nothing.

Especially when she had so many _other_ things to worry about.

A chill had run down her spine when Miss Akemi mentioned Nagisa out of nowhere.  For one thing, how had she _known_ about their living arrangement in the first place?  Mami hadn’t told anyone when she took in Nagisa – though really, perhaps she should have – and she rarely gave out the child’s name when they were out and about, shopping or visiting the arcade.

She supposed Miss Akemi _might_ have gotten the info from Miss Miki and Miss Sakura, who’d seen her at the store the other day.  But even if that was the case…

Why would Miss Akemi want to see _her?_   What business could she have with a six-year-old lost child?

Was it possible she _knew_ Nagisa somehow?  Mami’s imagination ran wild, conjuring up possibilities.  Nagisa as Miss Akemi’s long-lost sister or cousin, run away from home.  Nagisa as the heiress to a company the Akemi family had served for generations.

Nagisa, a hardened juvenile delinquent being pursued by Agent Akemi, secretly an undercover twenty-six-year-old with a glandular issue.

(Mami really needed to get that imagination of hers checked for bugs.)

In any event, she supposed there wasn’t any choice but to come out and ask directly.  But she’d need to tread carefully.

Just as she was thinking that, Nagisa toddled out of the bathroom with a bright smile on her face, before displaying both hands proudly toward her caretaker.

“Look, Onee-san!  I did it all myself, with soap and everything!” she exclaimed.  “I even got between the fingers, look!”

“Yes, I’m very proud of you, Nagisa-chan.  Go take your seat, and I can start serving,” said Mami, her smile far calmer than she actually felt right now.

The next few minutes passed mostly in silence as Nagisa munched contentedly upon her spaghetti and side salad.  Her enjoyment of the dish was so simple and sincere that Mami couldn’t bear to disturb it.

Eventually, however, as the dinner began to wind down, the blonde found herself asking, “Nagisa-chan, this might seem like a strange question…but do you know a girl named Homura Akemi?”

Mami wasn’t sure whether or not she imagined her charge’s tiny fingers stiffening around her juice cup, just for a second.

“Onee-san…” murmured Nagisa, before tilting her head and looking quizzical.  “Who’s that?”

“Oh, just one of my underclassmen at school,” Mami responded, in what she hoped were light, airy tones.  “I thought I heard her say your name the other day, but maybe I was mistaken.”

She _definitely_ didn’t imagine Nagisa’s fork clattering to the floor.

“Sorry!  Sorry!  I’ll get it!” said the white-haired girl, her face burning red as she dived under the table.  The moment she emerged, Mami took the dirty utensil from her and exchanged it for a clean one.

While she did so, however, her golden eyes never left Nagisa’s orange ones, and the child fidgeted in her seat.

“Umm…uh, well…” she mumbled, looking so incredibly suspicious it was almost comical.  “Can you…tell me about her?  Maybe I know her and just…dunno her name…”

“She’s a fourteen-year-old Mitakihara Middle School student, with black hair and eyes of…indigo, I suppose?  That’s probably the closest word to the shade,” Mami answered, keeping one eye on Nagisa’s reactions as she walked over to the dessert tray on the counter.  “Very serious, very stoic.  Do you know that word, Nagisa-chan?”

The girl slowly shook her head from side to side.

“It means she doesn’t show emotions very often.  I’ve almost never seen her with an expression that was anything but neutral,” Mami told her.  “But I also think there’s… _more_ to her than that.  I can’t quite explain it, myself.  Still…she leaves an impression.  If only by how much she tries _not_ to.”

Nagisa shuffled back and forth uncomfortably, as she seemed to think this over.  Mami didn’t say anything further to pressure her, though she _did_ make a show out of how very slowly she was transferring the tiramisu to a dainty dessert plate.

Unfair?  Perhaps.  But she could play dirty when she needed to.

Finally, the girl took a deep breath, and then asked a question.  It was something of an _odd_ question, one Mami had neither expected nor anticipated, and it caught her thoroughly off guard.

What Nagisa said was, “Is she…strong?”

The blonde was so completely thrown by the question that she answered without thinking.  Had she given it a modicum of _real_ thought, she’d have likely pointed out that she barely knew Homura Akemi.  And that there were many different types of strength – none of which were easy to judge without _truly_ getting to know someone.

But with her brain reacting on instinct, it stumbled somewhere her conscious mind couldn’t quite reach; that deep, dark well where her memory was a blank.

And so, to her own surprise, she found herself replying, “Probably the strongest person I know.”

For whatever reason – though perhaps it had more to do with the tiramisu Mami was absently sliding in front of her – this answer seemed to please Nagisa, who broke out into a wide grin again.

“Then I think I _do_ know her, Onee-san,” she declared, picking up a small spoon and taking her first, eager bite of the dessert.  She immediately squirmed about her seat in pleasure.  “Mmm…so _good_ …”

“I’m very glad you’re pleased with it,” said Mami.  “But can we…”

“Y’know, you should…” Nagisa continued on, speaking in quick spurts in between bites.  “You should… _mmmm_ …invite her over.  I’d… _oh_ …love to meet her.”

“You…You would?” Mami asked back, looking confused.  “But…didn’t you just say…”

“Onee-san,” the white-haired girl interrupted her, her tones suddenly crisp and clear.  “You should invite her over.”

“Nagisa-chan, I…err, I mean…” muttered Mami hesitantly, feeling her vision slacken slightly.  It only lasted for a moment, however, so she cleared her throat to start again.  “Well, if you feel so strongly.  Perhaps I’ll invite her for tea after school one of these days.”

“Thank you, Onee-san!” Nagisa gushed with a smile.  In one, swift motion, she pushed aside her now-empty dessert plate, slid to the floor, darted around the table, and claimed her “big sis” around the midsection in a tight, affectionate hug.  “I love you so much!”

Mami allowed an identical smile to crawl upon her own face, melting easily into the embrace.

“And I love you too, Nagisa-chan,” she said, closing her eyes.  “More than you could ever imagine.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Limbs.  Twisted, writhing.  Splayed out in such a way it was hard to tell which belonged to which body.

An overwhelming scent of bodily fluids permeating the room, as a large puddle of it dripped conspicuously off the couch.

And, above all…

The air filled with the distinct sound of low, desperate _moaning._

Madoka slowly turned her head toward her friend, revealing that her face was the shade of one of her father’s cherry tomatoes.  Then, stumbling clumsily over her own feet, she darted out of the room.

The pink-haired girl tripped and had to catch herself against the wall three more times before she reached the guest bedroom.  She didn’t think her aunts had noticed them come in – having been rather “busy” at the time – but she hadn’t exactly stuck around to find out.

The only thought in her mind was finding a pillow to bury her face in, and staying like that forever.

Unfortunately, she’d only managed to do so for a few seconds before the bedroom door slid open again, and Homura knelt down on her knees beside her.  Madoka squirmed deeper into the pillow, trying to hide her look of shame.

She could only imagine what her friend must think of her now.  Here she’d been, talking a big game about how “love is love” and how accepting she was of everyone…

And then, not ten seconds later, she’d come across two consenting adults expressing that love in a healthy, natural way…and bolted.

God, she was such a _coward._

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she felt a hand slowly running up and down the small of her back.

“Are you alright, Madoka?” Homura asked softly.  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, and I’ll do it.  I’m right here.”

The pink-haired girl bit down on her pillow, still not looking up.  “Y…You must think I’m such a hypocrite,” she said, voice quaking.  “I mean, I…”

But Homura cut her off.  “I’ll admit the timing was… _unfortunate._   But I didn’t take your reaction to have anything to do with your aunts being lesbians, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she told her.  “You’re simply not very comfortable with sex, Madoka, and that’s fine.  I doubt you’d have reacted differently if you walked in on your parents doing the same.”

Madoka felt her cheeks grow even hotter against the fabric of the pillow, which she supposed only supported the brunette’s point.

“I don’t think you’re a homophobe, Madoka.  Hell, I don’t even think Hitomi Shizuki is,” continued Homura.  “You’re both just shy about this sort of matter, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

She paused briefly, as if thinking something over, before adding, “And, in her case… _deeply_ in denial.”

Despite herself, Madoka felt a giggle bubble up from her throat.  Homura was so good at making her feel better about these sorts of things that it was almost scary.

She allowed the other girl to continue rubbing her back for a few more moments, before emerging from the pillowy sanctuary and sitting back up.  She still couldn’t quite meet Homura’s intense gaze, however.

“I…guess we know why they didn’t reply to my calls,” she said, trying to make her voice sound lighter than she felt.  “Do you think they…?”

“I’m fairly certain your aunts weren’t even _slightly_ aware of their surroundings at that particular moment,” answered Homura, before she could finish the question.  “I checked on Tatsuya, by the way, on my way here.  He’s napping safely.”

Madoka flushed again.  “Sometimes I think you’re a better big sister than I am,” she mumbled.  “I didn’t even _think_ to check.”

The corner of the brunette’s mouth twitched slightly.  “You were a little preoccupied at the time,” she remarked, her tones light.

Several moments passed quietly as the two girls sat there, less than a meter apart – Homura on her knees, while Madoka pulled her own against her chest.

Eventually, in a very small voice, the pink-haired girl whispered, “Can I…ask you something, Homu-chan?  Something, _umm_ …kinda personal?”

“Of course, Madoka,” said Homura immediately.  “You can always ask me anything.”

“The way you’ve been… _talking_ all day.  About those two on the bus…and the manga…and my aunties.  I keep, erm…getting the sense…” Madoka stammered, her words as clumsy as her feet on the way here.  “I mean, are you…could I ask if, uh… _well_ …”

She swallowed, steeling herself.  And then, her eyes screwed shut, she finally choked out, “Homuraareyougay?”

It’d all come out in a single, strangled breath.

For a while, Homura didn’t say anything; indeed, she displayed absolutely _no_ reaction to the question she’d just been posed.

Then, her eyes shifted to the side, and she replied tonelessly, “Yes.  I like girls.”

“Oh…wow.  That’s…so cool!” exclaimed Madoka, her tone that of one who was genuinely supportive, but unable to express it in any way that wasn’t deeply awkward.  “I never really saw it before…but today, it all kinda started fitting together…”

She fidgeted a bit, before then saying, “Umm, if it’s okay to ask one more thing…have you, uh…ever had a girlfriend?”

Homura still wasn’t meeting her eye, but she could see the way the other girl’s body momentarily tensed.

“There was…a girl…I held feelings for.  Feelings I’d never experienced before, for any girl _or_ boy,” she stated, her voice distant.  “But now…she’s out of my reach.  In more ways than I can count.”

“Oh…I see…” murmured Madoka, pulling her knees even closer to her body.  “That’s so sad.  But…I’m sure things will change!  I know it!”

Something like a smile appeared on the raven-haired girl’s face – though a distinct sense of sadness still clung to it.

“Once again, Madoka…” she spoke softly.  “You’re so much kinder than I deserve.”

Then, it was Madoka’s turn to surprise her friend, as she answered that sentiment with a warm, close hug.

“You’re the one who’s so kind to me.  Without fail,” she said, quietly nuzzling against Homura’s cheek.  “You always know the right thing to say.  You’re always the first one to reach out, when I’m feeling down.  And I can always count on you.  Right by my side.  You don’t give yourself _nearly_ enough credit for how amazing it is to be your friend, Homu-chan.”

Then, as the two of them slowly pulled apart, still linked by hands across shoulders, something unexpected happened.

Madoka felt a distinct tightening in her chest.  Her next few breaths caught, blending together in a way that made her feel briefly lightheaded.

And the redness in her face returned, just as intense as it’d been several minutes ago.

“I…gotta g…go to the b…bathroom…” she stuttered out, voice low and quivering.  Abruptly, she stood up, fighting against the jelly in her legs to make it to the door.

“Very well,” responded Homura, though she was looking on with concern as she too got up from the floor – with infinitely more grace.  “Meet me by the back door once you’re finished.  We can sneak out, circle back around, and come back in once they’ve… _ahem,_ cleaned up.”

“O…Okay…” said Madoka, barely taking in a word she was hearing.  Her entire focus was on getting to the restroom without collapsing.

Somehow or another, she actually managed it – though not without a couple of near-misses.  Quick as she could, she stumbled in, locked the door behind her, and turned her face to the mirror.

She was a mess: eyes puffy, lips trembling, and cheeks still burning like they were on fire.  Certainly, that’s how they _felt_ right now.  How her whole _body_ felt.

Hurriedly, Madoka turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto her face, desperately trying to pull herself together.  And trying to force the image that’d appeared a moment ago out of her mind.

She couldn’t let Homura see her like this.  Couldn’t admit that, just for a second, when she’d been looking into the other girl’s deep purple eyes…

The memory of seeing her aunts “together” had swam into her mind’s eye again, unbidden.

Except with herself and Homura in the same position.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Yer folks’ll be out tonight, too?” asked Kyoko, putting down the controller and strolling casually over to the kitchen.  “We gonna be on our own fer dinner again?”

“Mom’s got nine international flights this week.  She won’t be home till Sunday, at the earliest,” said Sayaka, grateful for the break.  She enjoyed video games, but she couldn’t go _nearly_ as long staring at a single screen as her roommate could.  “And dad’s paper is on serious deadline right now.  He should be back in tonight, but not before ten.”

“Jeez, ya really _are_ a latchkey kid,” the redhead tossed off, already fishing through the drawers for pots and pans.  “How’d ya survive without a gorgeous roomie ta cook fer ya?”

Sayaka shrugged her shoulder.  “Sandwiches, mostly,” she answered dryly.  “And I’m not _completely_ helpless.  I can make simple stuff, just not at your… _level._ ”

“Then ya should try an’ level up!” declared Kyoko, grinning at her own pun.  “C’mon, help me out.  I’m doin’ omurice.  We can consider this a…whatchamacallit.  A _teachin’_ moment.”

The blue-haired girl sighed and rolled her eyes, but went to join her roommate in the kitchen all the same.

“I _know_ how to make omurice, Kyoko,” she told the redhead.  “I just don’t bother most of the time.  Fried rice without the egg is almost as good, and takes half the time to make.”

“Yeah, but this ain’t any _ordinary_ omurice,” said Kyoko.  She smirked with satisfaction as Sayaka stopped short, stunned by the sheer range of ingredients laid out on the counter.  “ _Ta-da!_   Picked up everythin’ I needed from that Garden place yesterday.  Paprika, oregano, garlic, bay leaves, black peppercorns, soy sauce, salt, an’ an _assload_ o’ vinegar.  Plus that pork yer dad put in the freezer las’ week.”

“And…what exactly does that _make?_ ” Sayaka forced herself to ask, though she knew it made her look a little slow.

But the other girl just crossed her arms and grinned wider.  “Pork adobo, o’ course!  I’ll add it ta the rice instead o’ regular chicken or ham or somethin’,” she explained.  “The term’s Spanish, but this method’s actually from the Philippines.  It’ll take a bit ‘cuz it’s gotta simmer in the marinade fer at least two hours.  But trust me.  It’ll be _so_ worth it.”

Sayaka nodded slowly, having taken in maybe half of that.  Still, she rolled up her metaphorical sleeves and replied, “Alright, what the hell.  Put me to work.  What’s first?”

Kyoko chuckled and clapped her roommate on the back.

“I got the pork defrostin’, an’ I’m startin’ on the marinade now,” she said, as she poured some cooking oil into a pot with surprising dexterity.  “Go ahead an’ pull out the rice cooker.  Two hundred grams should be ‘bout right, ‘cuz we’re gonna be hungry as a _motherfucker_ once the pork’s ready.”

“Got it!” Sayaka shot back.  Determined not to be shown up, she hauled a massive bag of rice out of the cupboard and began to carefully measure.

And only spilled a _little_ bit.

The next couple of hours passed by with a strange, frenetic energy.  Since she barely had a clue what she was doing once the procedures got a few steps beyond “stick rice in cooker, pour in water, press button,” Sayaka found herself following Kyoko’s directions without question, her body little more than an extension of the redhead’s culinary prowess.

She fetched spices, chopped vegetables, and beat eggs as quickly and as carefully as she could, reacting with lightning-fast reflexes every time Kyoko called out instructions to speed up or slow down the pace.

Most remarkable, perhaps, was how… _different_ Kyoko seemed, now that she was fully in her element.  Her typical sarcasm and immature jokes didn’t _disappear,_ exactly – she _was_ still Kyoko Sakura – but they definitely took the back-seat to a straightforward, no-nonsense attitude that could almost be mistaken for professionalism.

Sayaka couldn’t exactly say she _hated_ seeing that side to her friend.

Eventually, after a great many grueling minutes of slicing, dicing, and simmering everything in an old crockpot, Kyoko’s “pork adobo omurice” was ready for serving.  Sayaka, who’d been starving _before_ they set meat aside to swim in vinegar for two hours, was all ready to dig in, but paused as she saw Kyoko fold her hands together, her eyes closed.

The redhead didn’t do this every time she ate – that would’ve been hard, considering she was nearly always munching on _something_ – but whenever they actually sat down for a proper meal, those hands would clasp without fail.

Usually, Sayaka didn’t ask.  But she was feeling uncommonly warm toward her often-trying roommate at present, so she said, “Dunno if it’s any of my business, Kyoko, but…are you Christian?”

Kyoko didn’t open her eyes right away, but responded quietly, “Yeah, I am.  What’s it to ya?”

The blue-haired girl shrugged casually.  “No reason, no judgment.  I was just curious.  I don’t really know very many outside anime,” she told the other girl, a bit awkwardly.  “Umm…which sect?  I read there’s, like…Catholics and Protestants, I think they were called?  And then the second one’s divided up into a whole bunch of other kinds.”

The redhead’s eyes finally opened, though her expression didn’t change.  It was a dull, blank look, that betrayed nothing of how she was feeling.

Eventually, in a low monotone that reminded Sayaka uncomfortably of Homura Akemi, she stated, “Protestant offshoot, at least at the start.  It…didn’t stay that way.”

Sayaka opened her mouth again, but Kyoko swiftly added, “I don’t like talkin’ ‘bout this.  Let’s just eat, okay?”

Seeing no other alternative, the blue-haired girl did as she was told, squirting ketchup over her omelet and then taking an enormous bite.

And was immediately forced to reassess her opinion about whether meat you had to babysit for two hours was worth the wait.

“I’m…freaking _serious_ …girl…” she found herself saying, in between bites.  “You’ve…got a real…talent for this stuff.  You ever…think of…going to school for it?”

“I love food.  But I _ain’t_ makin’ a career outta it,” answered Kyoko, whose spirits seemed to have largely returned upon the ingestion of nourishment.  “That’d ruin what makes cookin’ _fun._   The experimentin’, the creativity.  An’…”

She swallowed an enormous mouthful of egg, pork, and rice.

“…An’ gettin’ ta share it with people ya care ‘bout,” she finished.  For once, the grin she wore didn’t seem to bear a hint of sarcasm or irony.

The two of them continued on, eating in silence, comfortable in each other’s company.  It wasn’t a feeling Sayaka could remember experiencing very often, before Kyoko had moved in.  Back when…

Her eyes suddenly shot wide open.  When _had_ Kyoko moved in?

She was certain she hadn’t been part of the Miki household for all that long.  She had distinct memories of three, four, five months ago; memories Kyoko surely hadn’t been present for.

Yet even though it seemed that, logically, the moment where a girl who’d been an only child for fourteen years had suddenly gained a foster sister should’ve been an _enormously_ memorable event, the more she gave it active thought the less she seemed to recall.

Right now, it felt almost as if one day, Kyoko had been a stranger on the street, and then the next…

Sayaka forced her breaths to steady, as a pounding headache began to bubble up from the back of her brain.  What was _wrong_ with her?  They’d been enjoying an amazing meal, finally connecting – besides the questions Kyoko refused to answer about her faith, anyway – and now the blue-haired girl was questioning _everything_ about her roommate.

How had they met?  When had they started going to school together?  What’d convinced Inaho and Ryoko Miki, two people with barely enough time for their _own_ child, to take in another?

It scared the piss out of Sayaka that she couldn’t immediately answer _any_ of that.

“Kyoko…I…” she started to say, her voice hoarse and oddly hollow.  But the redhead cut her off with a wave of her hand.

“I know that tone.  That’s yer ‘serious shit’ tone.  An’ I got a rule: _no_ serious shit at the table,” she interjected, punctuating the point with another, mammoth bite.  “Whatever it is…it can wait…till these’re…in our bellies…where they belong.”

Sayaka wasn’t sure what to say to that.  But, ultimately, she nodded.

“Okay.  But if that’s how you wanna play it…” she muttered, speaking into her omurice.  “Then I don’t think _either_ of us is gonna be in the mood for dessert.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Madoka stood over her brother’s sleeping form, smiling faintly and trying not to make any noise.

Even though, right below the surface, every corner of her mind was freaking the heck out.

She knew Homura was waiting for her around the back door, but she couldn’t bear to face her friend right now.  Hence why she was hiding out at the side of Tatsuya’s bed, like the pathetic coward she was.

“ _Uuughhhhhh_ …” she whined involuntarily, before clapping her hands over her mouth.  Tatsuya didn’t seem to react, however, and after a few seconds Madoka breathed a sigh of relief.

Really and truly, she had _no_ idea how to deal with the image her mind had just conjured up.  She wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, in the grand scheme of things – but she didn’t need someone to paint her a picture of what it _implied._   She was dense about this sort of thing, sure, but not _completely_ hopeless.

The question was what to _do_ about it.

Growing up, she’d always been something of the odd girl out in this “area.”  Compared to Hitomi, who’d been getting regular love letters since puberty, or Sayaka, who’d been in love with the same boy for practically their whole lives, Madoka had never gone through what one might call the “crush” phase.

It wasn’t that she didn’t experience attraction.  It was just…more _general_ for her.  Other people would point out that this or that celebrity was “gorgeous” or “handsome” or just plain “hot,” and she supposed she could see what they were saying.

But to her, _everyone_ was beautiful, in their own way.  And she meant that _genuinely,_ though she was sure it didn’t come off that way to most people.

Boys, girls; men, women, children; kittens and puppies and that little birdy outside her window that liked to sing a bit too early in the morning.  She felt love for _all_ of them.  So much love, it was hard to imagine singling out just one individual.

So, though she wasn’t proud of it – it certainly didn’t help the uncomfortable feeling that she was still just a slightly taller grade-schooler – she’d managed to go fourteen years without ever “like-liking” anyone.  And she was fairly certain the reverse was equally true.

There was nothing special or remarkable about Madoka Kaname.  Not _one_ single, solitary thing.  She was plain and ordinary and clumsy and slow, and just thoroughly, painfully _average._   What _was_ there to love?

And yet…

Somehow, learning about Homura’s… _preferences_ seemed to have flipped a switch in her brain.  Logically, there was no reason why it should’ve.  They went to school with a _hundred_ girls who were a better catch than she was, and odds were at least a few would be willing to swing that way, if a girl as pretty as Homura happened to be the one asking.

If Madoka was too profoundly ordinary to inspire amorous feelings in _most_ people, then it was a laughable prospect that the smartest, most talented, most jaw-droppingly _beautiful_ girl in their year would be any different.  Even if they _were,_ against all reason, friends.

Not to mention how guilty the fleeting thought made her feel.  After all her talk about being a good ally, about accepting people for who they were and celebrating their differences, her good friend had had the courage to come out to her…

And she’d immediately fantasized about seeing that friend naked.

…God, she was a _horrible_ person.

Of course, her inexperience in this area only made dealing with it all the more difficult.  Was it truly possible that, all along, what she’d thought to be feelings of deep friendship had been masking something… _else?_

Madoka forced her breaths to steady, thinking back on her interactions with Homura with the closest thing she could approximate to an objective mind.  What she felt toward the brunette was undeniably strong; powerful; _intense._

Even though they’d only met when she transferred in about a month ago, Madoka sometimes felt as if she’d known Homura far, _far_ longer.

And yet, those feelings were distinctly different than what she felt toward Sayaka or Hitomi.  Not that her relationships with them were any less _strong,_ exactly.  She’d been friends with the pair just about her entire life, and _no one_ knew her better than Sayaka-chan.

But perhaps _that_ was the very point.  She’d been close to them for so long that thinking of Sayaka or Hitomi in… _that_ way…just seemed instinctively _wrong._

Despite her guilt, despite her insecurities…

Picturing herself “with” Homura didn’t feel at all the same way.

Without any direct input from her conscious mind, Madoka saw that “picture” begin to shift.  The soft slope of Homura’s toned body.  The radiant shine to her flowing, raven-colored hair.  Those rare, wonderful smiles, that seemed to be reserved for her and her alone.

The pink-haired girl gulped audibly.  She had a sinking feeling that the point she’d been dancing around all this time was, indeed…

 _Precisely_ the truth.

“Tatsuya-kun…” she said softly, intentionally directing her words toward a person who couldn’t hear them – and wouldn’t have understood them if he did.  “I think I’m in trouble.”


	6. The Ones that Last the Longest

“Madoka-chan, would you like another helping of rice?” asked Akane Inoue, for the third time in a row.  The policewoman was normally quite even-tempered, especially compared to her partner, but now a vein was pulsing madly on her temple.  “Young lady, I swear if you don’t answer me in the next five seconds, the next scoop winds up on your pretty little head!”

That was finally enough to startle the pink-haired girl out of her reverie.  “Oh!  Umm…gosh, I’m sorry,” she said.  “Yes, please…I’d love some.  And maybe some more edamame?”

“Sorry, girlie, just took the last…” started Shion Kunizuka, but she was cut off as Homura silently transferred all of hers to Madoka’s plate with a single, deft sweep of her chopsticks.

“I don’t really like it very much,” she told her, body still leaning over Madoka’s food as she spoke.  “Please, Madoka, take mine.”

As she leaned back into her own seat, the side of her chest briefly brushed against Madoka’s outstretched arm.  It was barely even a touch, and felt only through several layers of clothing…

And yet her cheeks still immediately flushed the same color as her hair.

Madoka had more or less devolved into a gibbering pile of nervous energy from the moment she’d admitted that she was…was… _oh,_ using the word was so embarrassing…

That she was _crushing_ on Homura Akemi, and hadn’t yet shown even the slightest sign of recovery.  On the contrary, the pink-haired girl felt like she was growing less and less stable by the moment, and it was a small miracle she hadn’t yet blurted out anything mortifying.

Mind, that was only because she’d been trying her absolute hardest not to say anything at _all._   She didn’t trust her mouth right now.

As they went through all the motions of a normal evening – doing homework, setting the table, sitting down for an intimate (no, not that word, that was a _bad_ word right now) family dinner – Madoka’s single greatest wish was to go back to the way things had been, _before_ she realized her true feelings.

But that was impossible.  Once those floodgates were opened, there simply wasn’t any chance of closing them again.  Homura’s every action, things as simple as flipping her elegant hair or gracefully serving them all tea, took on a new dimension now that the brunette was no longer a mere friend, but rather someone she…she…

Madoka swallowed, hard.

Someone she _wanted._

It was a foreign feeling, utterly without precedent, and as a result Madoka was at a complete loss as to how to deal with it.

A part of her – the very small part that was brave and daring and probably wouldn’t even _exist_ without Homura to inspire her – wanted to just go right out and say it.  If Homura’s earlier words were to be believed, then literally _everyone_ at this table was a woman attracted to other women.  There couldn’t be a safer space in which to “come out.”

But these feelings were all so new and strange and queer (Was that an okay word to use?  God, she really had _no_ idea what she was doing here…) that rather than feel proud or empowered, she just wanted to crawl up into a ball and disappear.

She wasn’t _ashamed,_ exactly, but feeling like this just made everything so much… _harder._   Not because Homura was a girl, but because she’d really come to treasure their friendship.  How could they continue being so close when every single interaction left Madoka a tongue-tied wreck?

And that briefest glint of fancy – of actually _admitting_ it all to the raven-haired girl?  That was the most laughable idea of all.

Sure, Homura might appreciate having another gay friend (if, indeed, that’s what she was) to confide in.  To chat about crushes on pop idols or… _err_ …whatever else teenaged lesbians talked about.

But to actually _return_ those affections, in the myriad ways her traitorous imagination was picturing?  The very _idea_ was laughable.  Homura Akemi – strong, silent, brilliant, utterly _gorgeous_ Homura Akemi – deserved nothing but the best of the best, whatever gender they might be.  The student council president; the school’s richest girl; its very best athlete.

Not the girl who was now trying her hardest to avoid dropping her chopsticks as her violently shaking hand reached for more rice.

Attempting to occupy her out-of-control mind, Madoka forced herself to tune back into the conversation around the table.  It seemed her aunts were asking Homura about their school life.

“Miss Saotome is a competent English teacher.  I cannot honestly vouch the same way for her skills leading homeroom,” said the brunette.  “At least half the time, she allows complaints about her personal love life to overtake the genuinely important information she’s expected to impart.”

“Sounds like Kazuko.  I only met her once, when she was maid of honor at Tomo’s wedding, but that was _more_ than enough to get an idea,” Akane replied.  “Mind, she wasn’t the _only_ one to blame for that fiasco.”

“Hey, she was the one who challenged _me_ to a drinking contest,” Shion declared with a shrug.  “Not my fault she got drunk under the table, snapped, grabbed a busboy, and…”

“Yes, well… _ahem._   I don’t think there’s any need to go into _that_ much detail,” she cut off her partner, grimacing.  Given the state she was in right now, Madoka was _immensely_ grateful.  “Now…Madoka-chan, Homura-chan.  I’m curious.  Have either of you given thought to your post-high school plans?”

Madoka’s stomach turned over a little bit.  That wasn’t a question she really had a good answer for at the best of times, and right now was _far_ from that.

Homura, however, answered promptly, “I intend to go into law.  There’s something I find appealing in the role of prosecuting attorney.”

“Oh, I see.  Wanna be my boss, do ya?” said Shion, with a mocking wink.  “You’d certainly get _paid_ a lot more, that’s for damn sure.  So I guess I can’t blame you.”

Madoka would’ve spoken up in support of her friend, but the sudden image of Homura in a slimming black suit short-circuited the thread of her thoughts completely.  _God,_ she was pathetic.

“I think it’s impressive you have such a clear idea of the direction you want your life to take, even at this early stage,” Akane told the brunette, after a moment’s pause.  “Do you have any lawyers in your family?”

Homura shrugged her shoulders.  “Possibly.  It’s hard to know for sure,” she responded, without any emotion.  “I never knew my father, and don’t remember my mother.  I’ve been a ward of the state since I was two.”

“I…didn’t know that, Homu-chan…” gasped Madoka, her basic instinct toward compassion piercing through her sick fantasies in an instant.  Getting the raven-haired girl to speak about her past was usually an exercise in pulling teeth.  “I mean, I knew your parents were gone…but you never said…”

“Once again, I’ve never known anything else.  So I have nothing to compare it to,” Homura interrupted her, tossing her hair nonchalantly.  “That’s why I don’t talk about my personal life much, Madoka.  Very little of it’s pleasant or interesting.  But it’s not especially _un_ pleasant, either.  Things are as they are.  There’s little point dwelling on it.”

“I’m not sure I can entirely cosign that philosophy,” said Akane.  “But I suppose there’re worse ways to cope.”

“My focus is on the future.  Not the past,” Homura spoke softly, eyes shifting down to her plate.  “I don’t have a choice.  That’s the only way I’ve been able to survive this long.  The only way…I can walk the path I’ve chosen.”

“…The only thing you have left to guide you,” mumbled Madoka.

The sound of Homura’s chopsticks tumbling from her hand echoed throughout the room, the soft clang of wood striking fancy ceramic dishware amplified in the near-silent din.

Madoka would’ve thought she’d imagined it, if she wasn’t looking directly at her friend’s hands.  But there was no mistaking it: they were _shaking._

“Homura…chan…?” she stuttered.

“That was…an interesting turn of phrase, Madoka,” said the other girl.  “It surprised me, that’s all.  Did you come up with it yourself?”

From anyone else, the pink-haired girl would’ve been certain she was being made fun of.  But Homura’s tones were remarkably frank, so Madoka wracked her brain for an honest answer.

And came up with nothing.

Madoka’s face screwed up in confusion.  Where _had_ those words come from?  They didn’t, indeed, feel quite her own.  More like an echo of something she’d heard long ago – of something she could only half-remember.

And yet, despite the source eluding her, she had an unshakeable feeling that the words had once meant a great deal to her.

The mystery was almost enough to distract her wandering eyes when Shion accidentally spilt miso soup onto Homura’s white shirt, causing the barest hint of what lay beneath to bleed through.

… _Almost._

God, she was a horrible person.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Okay, so lemme get this straight,” said Kyoko, pacing around the room as she spoke.  “A month ago, I wasn’t crashin’ here.”

“Yup,” replied Sayaka with a nod.

“An’ now I am,” said Kyoko.

“That’s right,” replied Sayaka with a nod.

“An’ _neither_ of us can remember how in the hell that happened,” said Kyoko.

“You got it,” replied Sayaka with a nod.

The redhead stood there for several minutes, tapping her finger against her arm.  Then, with her eyes closed and brow furrowed, she muttered, “Well… _shit,_ then.”

“So it’s not just Mami-sempai, is my point!” exclaimed Sayaka, hands balled into fists.  “Maybe we didn’t get whammied quite as _hard_ as her – I mean, dammit, three _years_ – but she’s not the only one with her memory getting swiss-cheesed!  There’s you, and me, and…look!”

She pulled out her phone and shoved it in front of the other girl.  Kyoko made a face, but nevertheless bent down to read the email.

 

_My Dearest Sayaka,_

 

_I know this will be an awkward question to ask of you, to say the least.  And yet I can see no other avenue by which to turn._

_So please, in the spirit of the friendship we have cultivated for many years now…and which I, sad to say, have so often failed to honor and cherish in recent days._

_If it is no trouble…if you are able…_

_Could you inform me of the precise date…_

_That Kyosuke and I first became a couple?_

_I’m certain this will come across as strange and out of the blue.  Perhaps it will even seem a cruel taunt, an attempt to hold our relationship over you like a trophy.  After all, we came together not too long ago.  A proper romantic couple shouldn’t forget these things so soon._

_In the face of all this, I’m afraid I can offer no more than my word that this question is extended with gravest sincerity._

_Against all reason, those treasured memories seem…_ fuzzy, _somehow.  For the both of us.  And if we cannot trust ourselves, then are we truly capable of trusting one another?_

_After all that has transpired, I am well aware that I have no right whatsoever to ask this of you.  But I know that in your heart of hearts, there is a spirit that is far stronger and nobler than mine.  One that has continued to hold our friendship true, even despite my transgressions._

_So in the name of that spirit, I implore you: please, answer.  Shed some light onto the brutal darkness that, inexplicably, has come to eclipse us both._

_With warmest and deepest regards, your friend always,_

_Hitomi Shizuki_

Kyoko remained silent for several moments after finishing the message.  Then, slowly, she turned to her roommate.

“That…is _exactly_ how I woulda expected Shizuki ta write an email,” she said.  “She does realize she coulda said all that in like two sentences, right?”

Sayaka thwacked the redhead across the shoulder, though she didn’t put any real force into it.

“Look, I’ve known Hitomi since we were little girls, and…even if things got kinda weird between us…” she started, before swallowing.  This was still far from the easiest thing in the world to talk about.  “What I’m saying is, she’s right.  Hitomi’s _not_ the type to be a sore winner about how things turned out with Kyosuke.  If she’s asking, it means she’s telling the truth.  They really _can’t_ remember.”

“Well whoopty-freakin’-doo, then,” Kyoko tossed off, waving her hand dismissively.  “Ya do realize amnesia isn’t, like… _contagious,_ right?  So ya got any theories on how all this _happened?_ ”

“I’m still not even sure what ‘this’ _is,_ ” answered the blue-haired girl.  “All we _know_ is that a bunch of people at our school completely blanked out on some _seriously_ important shit.  Beyond that…your guess is as good as mine.  A virus?  Gas leak?  Alien abductions?”

“Hey, mixin’ up fiction an’ reality is supposed ta be _my_ shtick.  Get yer own,” said Kyoko pointedly.  “Ain’t it possible yer just blowin’ all this outta proportion?  So Tomoe, Shizuki, an’ music boy have forgotten some crap too.  Doesn’t mean it’s all connected.”

Sayaka sighed.  “You’ve…got a point, I guess,” she admitted.  “But then, you realize what our next move’s gotta be?”

The redhead leaned back and stretched her arms as far as they would go.  “Forget ‘bout all this an’ play another round o’ _Smash?_ ” she guessed, grinning toothily.  “Watch the dub fer that new American show with the gay space rocks?  Take off our shirts an’ make out?”

Kyoko would’ve seen her roommate’s eyes roll so hard it was almost painful, were her hands not wearily rubbing at her face.

“No, you idiot.  We’ve gotta test our theory once and for all,” responded Sayaka.  “And that means a chat with Madoka and Akemi.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Tomohisa Kaname reclined across a lounge chair by the side of the pool, wearing nothing but swim trunks and sipping occasionally from a cocktail worth more than a week’s worth of groceries.  All expenses paid, naturally.

Sometimes, it was good to be the husband of such a corporate bigshot.

He was interrupted from his wondrous afternoon of doing absolutely nothing, however, as a phone began buzzing on the table next to him.  Scrambling to dry off his hands and grab hold of the device, he answered just before the final ring.

“Moshi moshi,” he said, on reflex, before remembering where he was.  “Err, that is…this is the phone of Junko Kaname, junior partner at Frontier Settings.  I’m her husband, Tomohisa.  Could I take a message for her?”

There was a brief pause, then…

_“Oh…hi, papa.  I…I guess mama isn’t able to talk right now?”_

“Madoka!” exclaimed the bespectacled man.  “It’s so good to hear your voice!  But…sorry, afraid not.  You know your mom.  She’s in our hotel room, err… _resting._ ”

_“Oh!  I see.  But…umm…isn’t Paris seven hours behind Japan?  So it should only be, like…around three there now…”_

“Again, you know your mom,” he replied, unable to keep a teasing chuckle out of his voice.  “She’s been working nonstop at the conference the last two days, and this is her first real break since landing.  Frankly, I’m surprised she lasted _this_ long.”

There were times he was a little less blasé about being married to a borderline alcoholic, but they _were_ (sort of) on vacation.  And he knew there were some other attendees at this conference getting into a _lot_ worse.

“I’ll let her know you called once she returns to the world of the living,” Tomohisa added after a moment.  “Unless there’s something I can help you with, sweetie?”

_“Papa, that…that’s so kind of you, but…umm…”_

He tried not to let the obvious hesitance in his daughter’s voice get to him.  While he would always be Madoka’s first resource for snacks or band-aids or warm hugs, advice on the ways of the world had always been more of a “mommy thing.”  Junko was simply better at handling that sort of conversation.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t prepared to try.  Something in his little girl’s tone made it sound like this was important, and his parenting instincts reared up with whip-like fierceness.

“If it’s not something you’re comfortable discussing with me, honey, that’s fine,” he said.  “But remember that I’m always here.  I won’t judge you.  I just want to listen, if you’ll let me.”

 _“It…It’s not that I don’t trust you, papa!  I, uh…well…it’s sorta…_ private _…”_

Tomohisa would’ve left it at that – he knew that in this context, “private” could mean any number of things, very few of them topics a fourteen-year-old girl was likely to discuss with her father – but a few more words tumbled out, a moment later.

_“See, it’s about…umm…a friend.  A friend who I think I…I think I…oh god…”_

“You like this friend, don’t you Madoka?” he cut in, gently but firmly.  “As… _more_ than just a friend.”

Even though he couldn’t see it, he could practically _hear_ his daughter’s cheeks flare up red.

_“H…How’d you know…?!”_

“You know, sweetie, this may actually be one area where I’m _more_ qualified to dole out advice than your mom,” he told her.  “Not that she hasn’t had her share of partners in the past, but before we met her approach was a lot more, ahem… _casual._   But trust me, I’ve gone through _just_ what you’re feeling now.  God, if Haruo hadn’t turned out to be straight…”

He allowed himself a momentary, wistful sigh, then asked, “Can you tell me anything about this friend?”

_“Well, uh…I mean…you’ve, erm…already met her…”_

_Her._   So that’s how it was.  The pronoun didn’t especially surprise him, not really.  The jury was still out on how much of sexuality was nature and how much was nurture, but last he checked the science leaned toward there being _some_ genetic factor at play.  With a bisexual father and a lesbian aunt, his daughter’s odds were tilted further in that direction than most.

The only real question was _which_ of Madoka’s female friends had managed to earn her affections.  He’d always had his suspicions about Inaho Miki’s girl…

_“It’s…papa, it’s…Homura-chan…”_

Or…her.

“I see,” said Tomohisa.  “And how long have you known you’ve had these feelings?”

That one took Madoka a few seconds to answer.

_“I…I only figured it out a few hours ago.  The subject…came up…and Homura told me she was gay, and suddenly I couldn’t stop thinking about…about…oh god, I’m such a filthy pervert…!”_

“There’s nothing wrong with fantasizing, Madoka.  Within reason,” he declared, forestalling her from going further.  It was probably best he _not_ learn too deeply what turned on his teenaged daughter.  “But regardless, that’s a good thing!  At least now you know your orientations are compatible.  Who knows – perhaps she shares your feelings?”

 _“There’s no way!_ ”

The sheer vehemence in her voice shocked him.  But before he could ask why, his daughter had already launched into a tirade, her voice a stammering mess.

 _“Homura is the top of our class in everything!  Everyone loves her!  A…And they should!  God, she’s so amazing…I can’t even describe it.  So…So what would she ever see in_ me? _I’m lucky enough just to be her friend.  Her_ girl _friend…that should be someone who deserves her.  And…that’s not me.  It’ll_ never _be me.”_

“You shouldn’t give up so soon, Madoka,” he said.  “Or sell yourself so short.  You’re a good girl, and I like to think we raised you right.  You don’t tell lies, and you don’t do bad things.  That’s the kind of stuff that _really_ matters in a relationship.  If Akemi-san’s as smart as you say…then she should realize that, too.”

Times like this, Tomohisa _really_ wished he had his wife by his side.  She was a lot better at “reading” this sort of situation than he was.  He was wracking his brain, but he hadn’t honestly noticed any signs one way or another, in their brief car ride to the airport.

If there _was_ something going on between them, Junko would’ve caught it immediately.  He resolved to ask her about it once she was sober.

In the meantime, however, his daughter was speaking again.

_“Th…Thank you, papa.  But I already know it’s hopeless.  She said there was another girl…one who was out of her reach.  I bet that’s why she isn’t dating anyone.  I bet…she broke her heart.”_

“That very well may be.  It can be… _difficult_ …to get back out there, after a loss like that,” responded Tomohisa, speaking from experience.  “But sometimes the best way to get past it _is_ with another relationship.  And the best ones, the ones that last the longest… _always_ start off as friendships.”

_“Wh…What are you saying, papa?”_

“I’m saying that nothing between you has to change, unless you _want_ it to change,” he explained.  “Keep on doing what you’ve been doing – being the best friend you can be.  It sounds like that’s what she needs.  And if it’s meant to be…then it’ll develop naturally.  No need to force it.”

Another lengthy pause.  Then…

_“I…I think that’s just what I needed to hear, papa.  Thank you.”_

The sheer sincerity in his daughter’s voice practically melted Tomohisa’s heart.

“I’ll let your mom know you called, sweetie,” he said.  “And anytime – _anytime_ – you want to talk about this more, you know how to reach me.  Remember…you’re my beautiful little angel.  No matter how much you grow up, I’ll _always_ be there.  To help you fly.”

_“I love you so much, papa.”_

He smiled broadly, held the phone close to his face, and whispered, “Love you too, honey.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Having finally managed to put the always-energetic Nagisa to bed, Mami Tomoe did a quick spot-check around her apartment.

Dishes?  Washed and presently drying.  Trash?  Emptied, and replaced with a fresh bag.  Front door?  Locked and double-bolted.

After nearly three years of living on her own, adjusting to essentially the role of a mother – particularly at age fifteen – hadn’t been the easiest thing in the world.  She’d largely kept an impeccable home even when alone, but if she slacked off occasionally in the laundry schedule or cleaning the bathroom there was no one hurt but herself.

Nagisa changed everything.  Now her every action affected the life of another; affected the life of someone _vulnerable._   For food, water, and shelter, Nagisa Momoe was completely and utterly dependent upon her ability to maintain a safe and loving home.

It was a harsh responsibility…but one Mami wouldn’t surrender for the world.

Of course, no matter how much she played up the role of the responsible adult, she _was_ still a middle school student – as the beckoning call of her math homework proved.  Now that everything else was out of the way, she supposed she had no other excuse to put it off.

Sighing softly, the blonde girl began to reach for her book bag, when a series of heavy knocks sounded upon her door.

Mami frowned.  There was no reason anyone should be visiting at _this_ hour of the night.

Still, not wanting to be rude, she approached the door and asked loudly, “Who is it?”

No one answered.  Mami placed a finger to her chin, weighing her options.  She wished she’d thought to have a peephole installed at some point.

Ultimately, she decided to unlock and unbolt the door, but leave the final security measure – a sliding chain – in place.  Slowly, she turned the knob and pulled it toward herself.

It all happened in the blink of an eye.  Something incredibly sharp sliced through the chain like a knife through butter, and the door was slammed all the way open, knocking Mami to the floor.

Then, before she could regain her bearings and get a good look at her attacker, there was a brief flash of movement, and then a sharp, sudden pain at the back of her neck.  Something had struck her, knowing exactly the right part of the body to target for maximum impact, and now she was…

Mami’s golden eyes fluttered closed, and the girl sank into unconsciousness.

Her attacker, meanwhile, looked down upon the blonde with a scowl of disappointment.  She nudged Mami’s body with her foot, to make sure she was really out cold.

“ _This_ is the one ya said woulda given me the most trouble?” she demanded of her partner.  “Don’t see the hype, gotta say.”

“Unlike you or I, her power remains sealed,” said the other girl, whose voice was far lighter and softer.  “So long as Mami Tomoe believes herself to be an ordinary girl, she will _be_ an ordinary girl.  She cannot use magic she doesn’t know exists.”

“ _Should_ we awaken her, then?” asked the first.  “Might be useful.  ‘Specially given who we’re gonna be takin’ on.”

“There’s no guarantee she’ll side with us when the time comes.  Even if she feels the same way about our target, I doubt she’ll condone our methods,” the second girl explained.  As she said this, she had one hand pressed against Mami’s temple; it glowed briefly.  “Besides…it appears she’s already been tainted.  She can’t be trusted.”

“Does that mean…that bitch is _here?_ ” murmured the first girl, immediately lowering her voice – though the whispers still carried in the near-empty apartment, nearly as much as if they were spoken at full volume.  “Then let’s take her out!”

But the second girl just shook her well-dressed head.

“If a battle is forced, you’ll have my support.  But I want to talk with the girl first,” she told her partner.  “We _need_ to learn how another was awakened, without me sensing it.”

The first girl still looked conflicted, but ultimately nodded her assent.  “You know best, o’ course,” she said.  “Jus’…promise me you’ll be careful, okay?  This one might be even more dangerous than the target.  I couldn’t live with myself if she got ya too.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” the second girl replied calmly.  “I’ve taken precautions.  Namely…that you’re here.”

The first girl couldn’t help but flush crimson at the implied compliment, but she didn’t have time to bask in it.  Instead, her partner waved her forward, as if they were a trained SWAT team.  The single finger she placed to her dainty lips meant one thing – there’d be no more talking from here on out.

The pair crept through the Tomoe apartment, sneaking as silently as possible.  Finally, they came upon their objective.

A single nod passed between the two girls.  Then, the first one kicked open the door with all her might.

But when it swung open, all they saw was an abandoned bedroom, decorated for a little girl of primary-school age.

Nagisa Momoe’s bed was empty…

And her window had been flung open, her curtains swaying in the cold night breeze.

 

[--------------------]

 

_Finally, she could see the truth._

_She’d been so hopelessly naïve, in what one might call her “former life.”  Witches weren’t supposed to remember anything from their time as Magical Girls – nothing but a vague scattering of rage and pain, all rolled up into a sorrow that never ended – but she was no ordinary Witch._

_Kriemhild Gretchen was no ordinary Witch._

_She was the greatest of them all, and consequently, had power to enact change upon the world that made all others pale in comparison.  Finally, if through different methods than she could’ve imagined, her dream would be fulfilled._

_The world_ would _know peace._

 _As a human, as a Magical Girl, she’d been foolish enough to believe her utopia could be achieved without bloodshed.  Without sacrifice.  By touching a single soul at a time, and_ hoping _they would never fall back upon their wicked ways._

 _Now, she understood.  To save the many, she couldn’t afford to wait for them to come to revelation on their own.  She would bring salvation_ to _them._

_Whether they asked for it or not._

_Already, her Barrier had expanded to encompass half the planet.  Within a few hours, it would be all of Earth._

_After that…she lacked any immediate plans.  Witches were, by their nature, not forwarding-thinking creatures._

_But she knew there was still suffering in the universe.  The Incubators had told her so.  And they had told her she was the only one with power enough to end it all._

_Until her Barrier encompassed all known reality…until every last man, woman, and child, of every race and creed imaginable, was protected within its gentle bosom…_

_Kriemhild Gretchen would never stop._

_She was the Witch of Salvation…_

_And there were still people to save._

 

[--------------------]

 

Madoka woke up in a cold sweat, her breaths shallow and ragged.

That last dream…like all the others, she couldn’t remember any details.  But the way it’d made her _feel_ …

The pink-haired girl didn’t have words.  But, suddenly and inexplicably, she felt herself suppressing the urge to vomit.

A few seconds later, the urge won out, and she made sick over the side of her futon.

“Madoka!” exclaimed Homura, from somewhere within the darkness.  In the blink of an eye the brunette had hold of her, carefully dragging Madoka to her feet and carrying her to the nearest bathroom.

Homura loosened her grip slightly to flip on the light switch, and Madoka immediately collapsed to her knees, holding onto the sides of the toilet for dear life.

“Madoka, are you alright?” said the other girl, sounding alarmed.  Perhaps she had a right to be, as Madoka could respond only by retching again.  But nearly all the water in her stomach had poured out in the bedroom, so all that came out were some stingingly painful dry heaves.

“Wh…Why do I feel this way…?” mumbled Madoka, half-delirious.  “I just…I just…oh god…”

More heaving interrupted her slurred words.  Instinctively, one of Homura’s hands reached to keep her loose pink hair out of her face, while the other rubbed small, gentle circles across her back.

“ _Shhh_ …no need to talk anymore.  I’m here.  I’ll always be here,” whispered Homura.  “You just had a nightmare, and nightmares aren’t real.  They can’t hurt you.  I won’t _let_ them hurt you.”

If she was aware enough to really parse those words, Madoka might’ve found them a bit odd.  But at the moment, she was just grateful for their calm and soothing tone.

And for the way the soothing movements of Homura’s hand made her whole body heat up inside.

Despite barely being awake, Madoka managed to inwardly slap down her traitorous subconscious.  Even _now,_ in about the least sexy position _imaginable,_ her body couldn’t quit it with the stupid hormones?

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of trying and failing to regurgitate her entire intestinal tract into the toilet bowl, Madoka felt the convulsions settle down, and her breathing return nearly to normal.

“I…think that’s the last of it,” she said.  “Thank you…for staying with me…Homura-chan.  I know I must look so disgusting right now…”

But Homura just looked the other girl in the eye, and calmly but firmly, spoke one word.

“ _Never._ ”

Then, slowly, she let go of Madoka’s hair and walked over to the small supply closet, pulling out some rags and a mop.

“If you’re certain you’re alright, I’m going to go and clean up our room.  It should only take me a few minutes,” she added, her tones again clipped and businesslike.  “If you start to feel sick again, just try to call out.  I’ll hear you.”

And with that, Madoka was left alone, still perched pathetically against the toilet.

It was a great struggle to get back to her feet, but even if Homura was still there to offer help she doubted she would’ve been able to stand taking it.  She’d already embarrassed herself enough for one night.

Once she managed to get herself back to a seated position – albeit, upon the now-closed toilet lid – she noticed a glow out the corner of her eye.  Turning her head a few centimeters to the left, she realized it was her phone; she must’ve left it by the side of the sink, distracted as she’d been after calling her father.

The glow indicated she had either a message or an unread email.  Groggily, she pulled the device in front of her face, and discovered it was the latter – courtesy of Sayaka.

**_Sayaka Miki:_ ** _need 2 talk. meet me b4 school behind gym. come alone or with akemi_

That was all it said.  Madoka turned the phone over in her hand, as if that might somehow cause the message to make more sense, but of course it didn’t.

“ _Sayakaaaaaaa_ …” she murmured, unable to keep herself from being a little miffed at her lifelong best friend.  Would it’ve killed her to throw in at least a _little_ more detail?

Between this, and the barely remembered horrors of her dream, it was doubtful she’d be able to get back to sleep tonight.  She peered at her phone’s screen, looking for the current time: just after three in the morning.  Great.

Placing her phone back down on the countertop, Madoka pulled her legs close to her chest and buried her face between her knees.

Why was all this happening to her _now?_

 

[--------------------]

 

The girl who’d been tucked into bed as Nagisa Momoe strolled along the side of the street, taking every opportunity to hop atop narrow ledges and balance herself along them, like a performer walking the tight rope.

This late at night, she passed only a few strangers, none of whom paid her any attention.  A homeless man begging for spare change.  A couple loudly arguing as the husband attempted to fix their broken-down engine.  A gaggle of college-aged girls, clearly high off their minds on one illegal substance or another.

She had to force down the impulse to gag.

She _hated_ this city.  Hated every last, festering wretch that polluted it with their inane mediocrity.

It wasn’t that other cities, even her own, were particularly better off in that regard.  But Mitakihara was where she was stuck right now, so it was Mitakihara she hated the most.

And she hated it all the _more_ now that she knew what’d been done to it.  She didn’t dance on other people’s strings; on the contrary, _she_ was the puppeteer.  The idea that this could all be nothing but a…

She shook her head.  No point in getting hung up on that now.  Better to focus on the one thing she _could_ control.

Well…“one thing,” depending on how you chose to count.

Wearing a cruel leer that Nagisa Momoe never possibly would, she began to hum merrily as she skipped along, searching for her little hidey-hole.

It was in one of a thousand identical outdoor storage containers, all arrayed in neat little rows and columns.  She’d “convinced” an elderly businessman to give her enough money to rent it for a decade, and then some.  All in cash, naturally.  Less easy to trace.

Container #7791014…just how she’d left it.  She began entering the combination on the first of half a dozen padlocks, until finally the container doors swung open.

The storage space was sufficient to hold a family of gorillas, but only one object lay prone upon the corrugated metal floor…

The lifeless body of Nagisa Momoe.

Yet even as she looked upon it, a bit of color began to return to the little girl’s cheeks.  Her chest began beating, if very slowly, and her tiny lips took a single, shallow breath.

“Wh…What happened…?” she choked out hoarsely, looking around in the near-pitch darkness.  Inevitably, her eyes became drawn to the only source of light entering the container.

But her captor didn’t bother making eye contact.  She was too busy looking at her phone, one of a hundred insipid “gifts” from the overindulgent Mami Tomoe, and counting down underneath her breath.

“And three…two… _one_ …” she said, grin widening sadistically.

Nagisa never got to ask who the strange girl who shared her height and build was, nor why she was counting.  Because in that moment she slumped over again, little but an unmoving corpse once more.

“Just like clockwork,” her captor continued to talk to herself.  It was really one of her more brilliant ideas.  She’d tethered the girl’s Soul Gem to a weather helicopter, which made precisely the same orbit around Mitakihara’s skies every single day.

Which meant that, just once every twenty-four hours, there would be a window of about ten seconds in which Nagisa Momoe’s body and soul were close enough to reestablish connection.  Far too short a time for her to ever mount an escape, but enough to refresh the body daily.

She certainly didn’t want to be wasting _her_ precious magic on such a mundane task.

Ever since she’d replaced this irksome brat in the home of Mami Tomoe, putting her plans into place had become _quite_ a bit easier.  But the plan was hardly foolproof.  She didn’t have shapeshifting magic, after all.  The only people who’d believe her to be Nagisa were those whose perceptions she could manipulate – the big-boobed bimbo included.

Should her cover ever be blown, she’d have the original right here as a bargaining chip.  And if not…

Well, once she fully evolved some more of her babies, they’d need _something_ for a snack.

Of course, she hadn’t expected to be caught so _soon._   Or just about.  She wasn’t sure who the pair were who’d invaded the Tomoe apartment, or how they’d found out about her, but she _wasn’t_ taking any chances.

She’d find some other way to deal with that Akemi bitch.  It would’ve been nice if Mami Tomoe had delivered her into her waiting arms, like she’d promised, but…

The imposter spat upon the ground, snarling under her breath.  No use crying over spilt milk, or whatever the dumbass phrase was.  She’d survived this long by not looking back, and that was how she was going to _keep_ surviving.

Swearing continuously from the strain, she hauled the cold body of Nagisa Momoe onto her back, and left the storage container behind.

She didn’t bother to lock it back up.


	7. Such Elementary Mistakes

“Are you _sure_ you’re feeling up to going to school, Madoka?” asked Homura, for about the fifth time in the space of an hour.  “There’s no shame in taking a sick day once in a while.”

Madoka pouted at her friend as they walked along the side of the road, heading toward the bus stop.

“For the last time, Homura-chan, I’m _fine,_ ” she said, in about the most irritated voice she was physically capable of summoning up.  Which was to say, maybe a two or a three on a _normal_ person’s scale.  “It was just that crazy nightmare that got me worked up.  Now I’m totally okay.”

“About that nightmare, Madoka…” murmured the brunette.  “I know you said you usually don’t remember the contents of your dreams.  But…is there _anything_ … _?_ ”

Madoka wracked her brain, trying to think.

Eventually, her pointer finger upon her lip, she answered, “Well…I guess… _maybe._   I dunno if I just imagined it, but I thought I heard a…a _name_ at some point.  What was it?  Like…Gilda, or something?  Or Greta…”

Suddenly, she lowered her fist into her palm.  “Wait, no, I got it!” she added quickly.  “Gretchen, I think it was!  But I’m not sure if it means anything…”

Homura’s hand, which’d been playing absently at the left side of her face, suddenly dropped limply to her side.

“Are you absolutely _certain_ that was the name?” she demanded, far more stridently than Madoka had been expecting.

“I…I think so!” stammered the pink-haired girl.  “But like I said, I dunno for sure!  I could’ve just imagined the whole thing after the fact, and it got jumbled up with my memories…”

She swallowed as they finally arrived at the bus stop; fortunately, the pair were the only ones here at this particular moment.  They sat down next to each other across the bench.

“Why do you ask, Homu-chan?” she said.  “Do you know someone named Gretchen?  It seems like one of those, y’know…old-timey, Western-style ones.”

Homura looked pensive as she sat down, the brief flash of emotion over as quickly as it’d flared up.

“It’s of German origin, a diminutive form of ‘Margarete.’  It is indeed not very common these days,” she told the other girl.  “But probably its most famous use is as the heroine in the tragedy of _Faust._   Have you heard of it, Madoka?”

The pink-haired girl slowly shook her head.

“There are many different versions.  Books, plays, even a manga by Osamu Tezuka,” Homura explained.  “But in just about every iteration, Faust is a doctor and scholar who makes a contract with the demon Mephistopheles, offering his soul in exchange for happiness.  Gretchen is the woman he comes to love and desire.  Both their fates…typically end in misfortune.”

“You’re so smart, Homu-chan,” muttered Madoka, feeling – as she often did – rather inadequate by comparison.  “Even about stuff like Western literature, you know so much.”

She was probably imagining the slight pink tinge to Homura’s cheeks as she looked askance and said, “I’ve…had a lot of time to myself.  Reading was really all I had.”

“What other stuff do you like to read?” asked Madoka, deciding to change the subject to something more pleasant.  “I was thinking…I should really read more outside of class.  My dad’s gag manga doesn’t really count.”

The raven-haired girl’s lip curled upward slightly.

“I’ve never told anyone this before, but…I like gag manga too,” she replied, offering one of those rare but heart-melting Homura Akemi smiles.  “Honestly, I read all kinds of manga.  Regular books, too…even a few American comics.  But I _love_ manga.  You…don’t think that’s weird, do you?”

“Of course not!” exclaimed Madoka, just a bit louder than she’d been intending.  She flushed a bit, but kept going.  “Everyone should follow what they’re passionate about.  Share it with the world!  You’re so amazing, Homura – anything you’re into has to be _just_ as amazing!”

Now there was no _way_ she was imagining Homura’s reddened face.  But she supposed the beautiful girl was just a little embarrassed at sharing this side of her personality for the first time.

“Do you have a favorite genre?” she added, when Homura didn’t say anything further.  “Favorite title?”

“I, err…enjoy many kinds,” said the brunette, fidgeting a bit upon the bench.  “Shounen, shoujo, seinen, josei, even some kids’ manga.  But, I…I suppose the thing that _most_ draws me to a story is…is…”

But whatever it was, she didn’t seem capable of forcing the words out.  Slowly, cheeks burning, she shook her head.

Suddenly, Madoka remembered what’d sparked all of this, on the walk home yesterday that seemed an entire _lifetime_ ago.  About the manga she’d borrowed from her dad and lent to Homura…

And what the raven-haired girl had said about it.

“It’s…It’s… _yuri_ stuff, isn’t it?” mumbled Madoka, her own pale cheeks now burning just as brightly.  The stray thought that at least now they matched only made her embarrassment _more_ intense.

Nevertheless, she found the other girl replying with a nod, if a barely perceptible one.

“Whether it’s an action series or a sports manga…” she said, very quietly.  “Nothing sucks me in more than a love story between two girls.  Maybe…because they’re usually so idealized.  I never had that.  Growing up, I didn’t know _who_ I was.  And…once I discovered that part of myself…”

Homura had one of those distant, unreadable looks in her eyes again, as if she wasn’t the only one being spoken to anymore.

“Everything since has been heartache,” she finished, just in time for the bus to finally pull up and cut their conversation short.

 

[--------------------]

 

Mami Tomoe combed the streets of Mitakihara City, anxious and panicked and doing a _very_ poor job of hiding that fact.

Most people, she supposed, would probably have called the police after discovering their apartment broken into and their young charge nowhere to be found.  If she was even slightly brave, she would’ve done the same, damn the consequences.

But complicating matters was the fact that, legally speaking, she and Nagisa had no relationship whatsoever.  She’d simply taken in the little girl off the street, and hadn’t made even a _nominal_ effort to locate her family or report to child services.

Besides, there was something that rankled in the back of her mind, whenever she considered contacting the authorities.  An instinctive feeling that, somehow, she _shouldn’t_ be drawing that kind of attention to herself.

The feeling wasn’t a rational one, and in this case it was unacceptably selfish.  But ultimately, it just wound up another piece in the pile of reasons why she should hate herself.

Still, the even _more_ selfish thing would be simply to wallow in such matters.  At least this way, she was _doing_ something about it.

Even if she didn’t yet have a single thing to show for her efforts.

She’d started off with all the obvious spots.  Toy stores.  Cake shops.  Every last corner market or park or arcade she’d ever taken Nagisa to while running errands.

By mid-morning, she was fairly certain she’d covered every single establishment in Mitakihara that served cheese.

But the white-haired girl failed to turn up anywhere.  Of course, Mami had no idea if she’d simply been spooked by the mysterious intruders, and run off on her own – or if she’d been kidnapped.

The fact that her bedroom window was open, with no signs of being forced, indicated the former was more likely…but if it was the latter, then all this searching was for naught.

Nagisa could be tied up somewhere, dark and cold and hungry, while _she_ wasted time.

Disgusted with herself as she exited an entirely Nagisa-less Wak­ō Garden, Mami finally managed to screw up enough courage to do what she should’ve done hours ago.  Pulling out her cell phone, she moved to begin dialing _110._

But before she could enter the third digit, she overheard a snippet of conversation that made her freeze up completely.

 _“God, I’m so_ bored _jus’ waitin’ around here like this!  We_ know _where Akemi is!  Let’s take her out already!”_

It was less the words than the voice itself which seized hold of her attention.  Because she was certain she’d heard it before – _just_ the previous night.

She had never gotten a good look at her attackers, but the first one had started speaking to the second, right before Mami lost consciousness.

There was no mistaking it.  They were _here._

Slowly, careful not to draw attention to herself, Mami maneuvered through the thick crowd, trying to figure out where the voices were coming from.  In the meantime, she took in the second one’s reply.

 _“You need to be patient, dearest.  And_ please, _we’ve been over this.  You must avoid invoking the target’s name if at all possible.  Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear.”_

The target…did that mean they were referring to “Akemi”?  _Homura_ Akemi?  What did she have to do with all this?

_“We nailed her once, we can do it again!  Jus’ need ta get her cornered an’ keep her from healin’!”_

The more Mami heard, the less she understood.  But she seemed to be getting closer to the source.

_“You know well that the target is significantly stronger than either of us.  Even combined, we are no match for her in a direct confrontation.  Stealth and subterfuge will be our best weapons.”_

The blonde still wasn’t sure of the context, but one thing was clear.  They were talking about _attacking_ Homura.  She didn’t know the eighth-grader all that well – apart from that small, nagging part of her brain that insisted she _did_ – but she still couldn’t allow that to happen.

These two were dangerous, and _needed_ to be stopped.

 _“Hey, I’m all fer stealth.  That’s why I used a sniper rifle an’ not my magic.  But c’mon, jus’ let me have a_ little _fun with her.  Please, O…”_

Her words were suddenly cut off, as if someone had forcibly grabbed her attention.

_“Hold a moment.  We’re being watched.”_

Mami’s blood ran cold.  Instinctively, she began to back away.

Unfortunately, the mysterious pair were quicker on the uptake than she was.  Dainty but surprisingly strong hands seized her from behind, pulling her close.

“Well, well, Tomoe-sama,” said a girl she’d never seen before, her features stunning and beautiful and yet _utterly_ cold.  “It seems we have underestimated you.”

She placed one of those hands to Mami’s temple.  There was a flash of bright, white light…

And then the world fell away once more.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Don’t see why ya expect this’ll make a difference,” complained Kyoko, kicking the dirt with her foot in lieu of anything to do.  “So what if Kaname an’ Akemi are missin’ a few screws too?  Won’t get ya any closer ta _explainin’_ any o’ this.”

“Maybe not,” Sayaka responded, as she leaned against the back of the school gym building.  “But more data certainly can’t _hurt._ ”

“Lookin’ at my math grade, I’d have ta disagree with ya there,” said the redhead, chuckling at her own lame joke.

The two had been waiting here for almost twenty minutes, having risen early at Sayaka’s insistence in order to get a head-start on, as the blue-haired girl put it, “the mystery of the century!”

(Mind, she’d _still_ managed to sleep past her alarm and required Kyoko’s peculiar brand of mammary-style wake-up call, but that was neither here nor there.)

Of course, as Kyoko had seen fit to point out at least three times so far, their early arrival didn’t make the bus come any faster.  And since they couldn’t actually get _started_ until the other two showed up…

“An’ what if they _don’t_ decide ta come?” asked the redhead, again breaking the silence out of sheer boredom.  “Yer email was pretty vague.  An’…kinda threatenin’.  Maybe ya spooked her off.”

“Madoka will be here,” Sayaka declared confidently.  “Whatever else happens, she’s still my best friend.  She’s _been_ my best friend since we were in diapers.  That’s never gonna change.”

“Ya sure ‘bout that?” said Kyoko, crossing her arms and frowning.  “Cuz from where I stand, it looks like she’s got herself a whole _new_ bestie these days.  One who definitely wants ta jump her bones, but hey.  Not like _I’m_ one ta judge.”

The other girl’s blue eyes immediately went wide with alarm.  “Wh…Wh… _Wh_ … _Whaaaaaaat?!_ ” she stammered.

“Ya _seriously_ couldn’t tell?” asked Kyoko, as she popped a piece of strawberry-flavored Rocky into her mouth.  “Like, she’s definitely not on _my_ level o’ mad flirt-game, but c’mon.  The only way ya look _that_ intensely at someone is if ya either wanna kill ‘em dead, or screw their brains out.  An’ she’s gone ta too many pettin’ zoos an’ kitty cafes with Kaname fer me ta believe it’s the first one.”

“Y…Yeah, but…it’s different with you!  You’re just joking around!” Sayaka exclaimed.  “Akemi’s different.  Sorry, but I don’t trust her any farther than I can throw her.  If she thinks she can make a move on someone as innocent and naïve as Madoka…”

At this, Kyoko suddenly looked askance, biting straight through her stick.

“I’m not _always_ jokin’ around…” she mumbled, out the corner of her mouth.

But Sayaka didn’t appear to have heard her.  The two of them were finally joined by another pair, whose uniforms matched their own.

Kyoko couldn’t help but notice that their hands were very close together, as if they’d recently been holding onto each other.

“Let us get this over with quickly, Sayaka Miki,” said Homura.  “Homeroom starts in eight minutes.”

“This shouldn’t take long,” Sayaka replied, a scowl upon her face as she regarded the raven-haired girl.  “I just need to know one thing from both of you…”

She took a deep breath before turning her attention to Madoka, her expression softening as she looked upon her oldest and dearest friend.

Then, finally…

“How much do you remember about the last month?”

 

[--------------------]

 

“…And that’s everything,” finished Tomohisa Kaname, leaning his elbows down upon the bar as he finished off his first drink of the night.  “Do you, uh…think I did alright?”

His wife, by contrast, was confidently polishing off her sixth glass.  Once the expensive foreign beer was safely in her stomach, the businesswoman held up a finger, let out a little hiccup, and then answered the question with a knowing smirk.

“Let it never be said I’m any kind of expert in parental advise…” she said.  “But all things considered, I’d say you did goddamn _fantastic._ ”

Tomohisa let out a deep sigh of relief.  “That’s good to hear,” he told her.  “I’ll be honest, I was winging the heck out of it.  Giving my teenage girl tips on how to pick up _another_ teenage girl is…let’s just say, it’s not exactly inside my comfort zone.”

“If it _was,_ I’d be a little disturbed,” Junko teased.  “But really, Tomo, you worry too much.  Those kids will be fine.  Honestly, everything you’ve just told me sets my mind at ease.”

Her husband’s brow furrowed slightly.  “How so?” he asked.

Junko’s smirk widened as far as it possibly could as she accepted yet another tall class from the fancily dressed French bartender.

Then, with a wink toward her husband, she responded, “Because, honey, Homura Akemi is in as much in love with our daughter as I am with booze.  Oh…and you too, of course.”

Tomohisa, who was amply used to his wife’s playful nature, took the joking put-down in stride.  But his jaw still dropped slightly as he processed this new information.

“I never really noticed…but then, I guess I wasn’t exactly looking,” he said.  “Suppose it _does_ explain why she’s been around the house so much.  Or why she jumped at the chance to spend the week at Akane’s.”

“We don’t know all that much about her, in the grand scheme of things.  My worry was how she might react if she confessed, and our Madoka-chan turned her down.  Not everyone takes rejection well,” explained the businesswoman.  “But now that we know it’s mutual, that removes a lot of the sting.  Maybe it’ll work out, maybe it won’t.  But at least the _potential_ is there.”

“Sh…Should we tell her?” murmured Tomohisa, leaning in.  “Maybe it’s not our place, but…Madoka was _so_ adamant.  Certain that Akemi-san could never, _ever_ return her feelings.  You know she’s always had issues with self-confidence.”

Junko nodded slowly, her expression solemn.

“I won’t deny that,” she whispered back.  “But I think that’s precisely why we _shouldn’t_ interfere.  She _needs_ this, Tomo.  To be able to come to terms with these feelings on her own.  And then, if and when the time is right…to act on them.”

“That’s always been the hardest part of being a dad, for me,” the bespectacled man admitted.  “Figuring out when to step back…and let them find their own way.”

“No matter how old they get, the instinct’s always there to swoop in and save the day,” said Junko, nodding again in agreement.  “But that’s not always the healthiest response.  In my heart, she’ll always be my baby girl.  But we have to face facts.  She’s growing up.”

Tomohisa placed one hand over his wife’s, running his fingers along hers.

“Alright…if you think it’s best,” he breathed out, before tilting his head to the side.  “You know, it’s funny.  I agonized for ages about coming out to _my_ folks.  Mom got it immediately, dad… _tried_ to.  Still, he got there eventually.  And I guess I’m glad I made it a little easier for Akane.”

“It was a different time.  Especially in Japan,” replied Junko.

Her husband’s upper lip twitched.  “You’re telling me,” he remarked, fingers playing absently with his glasses.  “Look at Madoka.  She didn’t even _hesitate_ to tell me her crush was on another girl.  Hesitated on other stuff, sure…but not that.  I guess I’m just proud.”

“Well, she _is_ staying with the two gayest women in Mitakihara City,” Junko stated jokingly.  “And I work in the corporate world, so that’s saying something.  Get a couple of these into Kobayashi from IT, and she’ll rant your ear off for twenty minutes about her maid fetish.”

She gestured pointedly toward her beer glass, which in the past few minutes had mysteriously happened to become empty once more.

Tomohisa shared his wife’s playful grin, though he also surreptitiously collected a tall glass of water from the bartender and pushed it in front of her.

“Guess if now is the time for Madoka to have ‘that’ talk as a young queer girl…” he said, as Junko gratefully downed the liquid in a couple of gulps.  “Then there are worse people to handle it than Akane.”

The businesswoman put down her water glass a few seconds later, tried and failed to suppress a small burp, and then flushed as pink as her daughter’s hair.

“Just as long as it’s her and not Kunizuka-san,” she muttered, her tone now halfway between facetious and dead-serious.  “Love the woman, truly I do.  But should _not_ be doling out advise to impressionable schoolgirls.”

Her husband chuckled, the tone of his laughter somewhere in that same in-between space.

“I’ll drink to that,” he declared, knowing well she didn’t require the excuse as the bartender slid over his second beer, and her eighth.

Their glasses clinked.

 

[--------------------]

 

Madoka blinked several times, unsure whether she understood the question.

“Umm…what do you mean, Sayaka-chan?” she asked, shifting around awkwardly along the balls of her feet.

“Look, Madoka, that ninth-grade girl…Mami-sempai…she’s not the only one missing chunks out of her memory,” said the blue-haired girl, her expressive pensive.  “We compared notes, and me, Kyoko…even Hitomi and Kyosuke…”

“May I ask what it is _you’ve_ forgotten?” Homura cut in, her arms crossed and her fingers tapping impatiently.

“A helluva lot, dependin’ on how ya count,” Kyoko answered loudly, before her roommate could.  Her tone was largely flippant, dismissive, but there was a noticeable undercurrent of something like genuine worry.  “How me an’ Li’l Miss Blue-is-the-Warmest-Color met, fer one thing.  I got a lotta bits an’ pieces in my head, but not the big picture.  _So_ weird.”

“ _Everything_ about Kyoko coming to live with us is a big, jumbled-up mess.  For both of us,” added Sayaka.  “When I put it out of my mind, when I don’t think about it too hard…everything seems fine.  But the moment I try digging in deeper…”

She sighed, fingers rubbing wearily into her face.

“Meanwhile, Hitomi and Kyosuke have apparently got _no_ clue how they became a couple,” she continued on, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from leaking into her voice.  “They know she confessed, they know they got together, they remember their dates and crap…but there’s holes all over.  _How_ did it happen?  When?  Where?  _Why?_ ”

“That’s…so scary…” murmured Madoka, shivering.  “But no…I’m sorry.  I can’t think of anything like that I’ve forgotten.  Homura-chan, what about you?”

The brunette didn’t say anything, merely shaking her head no.  Her expression was again unreadable.

“The only common thread I can find is everything that’s disappeared _seems_ to be from the last month or so,” said Sayaka.  “Go back a little farther than that and everything’s crystal-clear.  But once we hit somewhere around mid-March…”

Homura noticeably stiffened, but still didn’t speak up.

“She’s got some whack-a-doodle theories ‘bout us all getting’ brain-blasted by some weird sci-fi shit.  Or somethin’,” Kyoko provided another, questionably helpful interjection.  “Me, I think there’s gotta be a reasonable explanation.  Like lead in the cafeteria food!”

Sayaka paused in her explanation to side-eye her roommate.  “You eat more cafeteria food than any of us,” she couldn’t help but point out.

“ _An’_ my memory’s a big slice o’ Swiss cheese,” the redhead countered immediately, as she popped in yet another Rocky stick.  “Thus provin’ my point.”

Madoka suddenly realized something, however.  “H…Hold on,” she said, somewhat hesitantly.  “Didn’t Mami-sempai say something about…uh…three years?  That she’d been forgetting things _that_ long?”

“That _is_ something to consider,” mused Sayaka.  “But if your short-term memory’s screwy, then your perception of _long_ -term memories might not be the most reliable.  It’s possible she only _thinks_ she’s been having problems for three years.”

Kyoko shrugged nonchalantly.  “No way ta know fer sure,” she declared.  “She’s the only one who can grok her own head.”

The blue-haired girl tapped at her chin, processing all this.

“Then maybe we should go in a different direction.  Try figuring out why _we’re_ the ones affected,” she replied, her voice low and even.  “Like…I assumed that, whatever it was, it had something to do with our ‘group,’ y’know?  But if Madoka and Akemi-san weren’t affected…”

“Affected by _what?_ ” Homura all but snapped, her abrupt resurfacing into the conversation as biting as it was sudden.  “You keep talking as if this is…some sort of _disease,_ or an enemy to fight.  Instead of what it _really_ is.”

She looked Sayaka Miki straight in the eyes and, without an ounce of pity, said, “A little girl, so obsessed with pursuing a childish notion of ‘justice’ that she needs to invent a conspiracy out of whole cloth, just to connect a few memory lapses.”

Slowly, Sayaka’s trembling hands formed into fists, and her jaw clenched tight, as she glared daggers back at the other girl.

“You…You _bitch_ … _!_ ” she exclaimed, taking a step forward.  “You wanna say that again to my face?!”

“I believe I just did,” Homura stated coolly.  She wasn’t backing down.

Kyoko just stood to the side, leaning against the gym building and continuing to munch her Rocky as she enjoyed the show.  Madoka, for her part, was at a lost as to how to react to the sudden escalation, and instinctively threw herself between the pair.

“Stop it, _stop it!_ ” she cried out, extending out an arm toward each girl.  “You two are my best friends in the world!  Why are you always _fighting?!_ ”

“Madoka…” muttered the blue-haired girl, looking a bit chastised.  “I…I mean…look, _she_ started it!”

Homura appeared far less contrite, but nevertheless she said, eyes shifted to the side, “I…may have spoken too harshly.  But that doesn’t change the basic truth of my words.  You’re jumping to conclusions over evidence that’s scant at best.”

“I _know_ that,” growled Sayaka, even as she seemed to be doing her best to force her hackles back down.  “But if we don’t look into it, that’s _all_ it’s gonna be.  Sure, maybe I’m making something out of nothing.  But I can’t _stand_ not being sure.”

She clenched her teeth, before hissing out, “…Sure about whether I’m losing my goddamn _mind._ ”

If any of the girls had anything further to say, it was preempted by the clanging rings of the school bell.

“Whelp, those o’ ya that actually _care_ ‘bout attendance an’ shit better get a move on,” drawled Kyoko, as the three girls around her scrambled to make it to class before roll call.

Well…Madoka and Sayaka did, anyway.

Homura Akemi, as usual, moved with all the quiet confidence of someone who’d never been late to anything in her life.

 

[--------------------]

 

When Mami’s eyes finally fluttered back open, they revealed a world only slightly less dark than the insides of her eyelids.

Compared to most people, she liked to think she actually had fairly good night vision, but in this pitch-blackness the most she could tell was that she was in a room somewhere.  One that was fairly small and cramped, with no windows.

Attempts to move her body were absolutely fruitless; she was in a sitting position, and restrained by what felt like heavy ropes at her wrists, shoulders, waist, shins, ankles, and even neck.

“They _really_ aren’t taking any chances,” she said to herself.  She was surprised at how hoarse and parched her voice came out.  How long had she been unconscious?

For that matter, who _were_ her captors, exactly?  She’d gotten a good look at one, right before they knocked her out, but her face was completely unfamiliar.  And none of what she’d overheard shed any light on the mystery.

Sniper rifles?  Targets?  “Stealth and subterfuge”?  Whoever the pair were, they spoke more like guerilla fighters than the types of people you’d expect to find wandering the streets of Mitakihara.

Especially since the girl she’d seen didn’t appear very far from her own age.  Far too pretty, far too… _sheltered,_ to be a convincing soldier.

She had a bad feeling she’d just been thrown into something _far_ beyond her ability to deal with.

With no other options to try in facilitating her escape – even wobbling the chair proved impossible, meaning it was probably bolted to the floor – Mami found her thoughts turning to other matters.

Namely, Nagisa.

Had this pair kidnapped the young girl as well?  Was she currently being kept tied up, in a dark room just like this one?  It seemed likely.

But then, that didn’t actually get her any closer to _solving_ the problem.  How could she possibly help the child now, when she wasn’t even capable of helping _herself?_

Mami’s eyes narrowed.  She’d never been one for giving up.  Not when someone was truly counting on her, for the first time since…

She cut that thought off at the root – no point and no time for wallowing in the past now – and instead concentrated on trying to pick objects out of the blackness.  Most were nothing but vague outlines, but if she focused hard enough she _might_ be able to discern more.

Her chair seemed to be facing something like a…shelving unit, perhaps?  The stacks of items arrayed in linear rows suggested it, even if she couldn’t quite make out what the items _were._

In that case, she was probably in some kind of storage room or large closet.  Likely with thick, insulated walls so no one could hear her screaming.  They hadn’t bothered to gag her, after all, and she doubted any captors who were _this_ thorough with her restraints would simply forget something like that.

A sudden thought struck her.  That must mean her mouth was _intentionally_ left uncovered.  For interrogation, perhaps?  But no one was here to ask questions.

Unless…

It took a great deal of effort, fighting with the ropes wrapped around her neck, but her head was fairly flexible.  With a bit of fidgeting, she was able to move it a few centimeters to the right, then the left.  And that’s when she saw it.

The only splash of color in this entire, pitch-dark room.  The dim, blinking red of a security camera.

“Very well, you’ve had your fun,” she spoke toward it, hoping someone was listening.  “I’m willing to cooperate now.  Surely you must have _some_ reason to keep me locked up here, beyond pure sadism.”

But no answer came.

“Please, I’m begging you.  A little girl _needs_ me,” she said, hoping that perhaps her captors might have _some_ humanity she could appeal to.  “If you reunite us, I’ll do whatever you ask.  She can’t survive without me.  And…And I…”

She let out a deep, rattling, defeated breath.  “And I need _her_ too,” she whispered, a hitch in her throat.

A few seconds passed in dead silence.  Then, something very strange happened.

After the past twenty-four hours, Mami was no stranger to the sensation of losing consciousness.  But the previous two times, while the process had been quick, it’d still _been_ a process – a feeling of her sense of the world and herself rapidly slipping away.

This time, her mind simply _stopped._

In the room adjacent to hers, a middle school-aged girl leaned across a security console, watching this in real time.  Then, without looking away from the screen, she pulled a burner phone from her pocket and dialed a very familiar number.

It was the only number she _ever_ called, after all.

“It happened,” she said.  “How far away are you, dearest?”

The voice on the other end cooed, clearly pleased by the pet name, but nevertheless answered promptly.

_“One hundred meters.  I measured exactly!”_

The girl smiled.  Her lover sounded so proud of herself.

“Then that particular ‘rule’ remains unchanged.  That is good to know,” she responded.  “You’ve done very well.  I promise that once you return, you will be… _bountifully_ rewarded.”

The other girl’s reaction to this news might well have registered to instruments as a low-magnitude earthquake.

 _“Don’t worry, mistress!  I’ll never, ever, ever,_ ever _disappoint you!  If I do, then shatter me and leave me for dead!  I live_ only _for you!”_

“Let’s hope _that_ won’t be necessary,” said the first girl, the corner of her lip twitching slightly.  “Now, hurry along.  We have a great deal more work to do.”

_“Of course!  But…umm…what should I do with the Soul Gem?  Should I hide it somewhere?”_

“No, dearest.  Bring it with you,” she ordered her lover, knowing her words would be accepted without question.  “There’s no need to worry about Mami Tomoe.  Even once her soul reconnects with her body…she has no chance whatsoever of escape.  And besides…”

Her gaze turned back to the security camera feed.  As expected, the blonde’s body soon roused, looking around with confusion.  She had no idea of the two minutes or so she’d lost.

“…We’ll need her alive if we expect to run any further experiments.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Homura sat at her desk, pretending to type on her laptop as Saotome-sensei droned on about the difference between the commissive modality (“I shall _definitely_ go with you to your aunt’s funeral on Saturday!”) and the volitive (“If _only_ I could go with you to your aunt’s funeral on Saturday, but you see, something came up…”).

Not that she was really taking in a word of it, of course.

She’d heard this particular lesson dozens of times before, after all.  While it wasn’t an especially noteworthy one, in and of itself, in an “average” timeline tonight would be the night that Sayaka Miki finally fell into despair and became a Witch.

So it was a little hard _not_ to commit the day’s events to memory.

 _Memory_ …the very word made Homura’s skin crawl.  Though she did her best not to show it, inwardly, every part of her body was pulsing and tensing.

How was this possible?  How could Sayaka Miki have figured out so much, so _quickly?_

The brunette shook her head, attempting to clear it.  She’d been sloppy, careless.  Focused so much on one threat she’d neglected to account for a dozen others.  After so many time flows, she thought she’d have moved past such elementary mistakes.

If she was to continue protecting Madoka in this new world, she _couldn’t_ afford to slip like that again.

A blinking icon on her desktop caught her eye and shook her out of her reverie.  The girl in question had just sent her a chat invite.

 

_Mado-nyan: im sorry homuchan_

_SpiderLily: For what, Madoka?  You didn’t do anything wrong._

_Mado-nyan: yea but…i shudnt ve yelld liek that_

_Mado-nyan: i just dont want any1 2 fite_

_SpiderLily: Don’t apologize, Madoka.  I was the one who escalated things with Sayaka Miki, even after you asked me not to.  I’ll try to do better.  She’s your friend, which means that she is my friend too._

 

That was a bald-faced lie.  Homura didn’t really give a damn about Sayaka Miki.  From her perspective, it’d been _years_ since her initial pity and empathy for the blue-haired girl – who was, in a sense, going through many of the same issues Homura herself was – had given way to utter apathy.

But it _was_ true that Madoka’s mood was inseparably tied to that of her closest friends.  While Homura’s heart had closed off long ago, Madoka’s was more bountiful and glowing than a star.  She’d learned well that so long as she and Sayaka were constantly at odds, Madoka would _always_ feel torn between them.

That’s why she’d chosen to handle Sayaka Miki – and the rest – the way she had.  If they were happy, then Madoka was happy.

And if Madoka was happy, then everything she’d worked for was truly worth the cost.

 

_Mado-nyan: homuchan_

_Mado-nyan: can i ask u sumting_

_Mado-nyan: its hard 2 say outloud_

_SpiderLily: There is never anything you should hesitate to ask me, Madoka.  I am at your disposal completely._

_Mado-nyan: ok_

_Mado-nyan: u c, umm…_

_Mado-nyan: oh god this is hard_

_SpiderLily: Take all the time you need.  It’s not as if today’s lesson will get any more interesting._

_Mado-nyan: alrite_

_Mado-nyan: ok do u_

_Mado-nyan: do u find me…ummmm…_

_Mado-nyan: …_

_Mado-nyan: lemme try agin_

_Mado-nyan: do u_

_Mado-nyan: do u think im_

_Mado-nyan: god god god_

_Mado-nyan: am i_

_Mado-nyan: …_

_Mado-nyan: pretty_

Homura stared at the screen for a full ten seconds, unable to completely process what she was looking at.

Had…Had Madoka _actually_ just asked…

 

_Mado-nyan: O WAIT GOD DONT ANSER_

_Mado-nyan: …_

_Mado-nyan: sorry its just_

_Mado-nyan: wen we talkd yester day_

_Mado-nyan: yknow_

_Mado-nyan: wen u askd bout that girl who calld me cute_

Homura hesitated for a moment, remembering the moment vividly.  Then she typed…

_SpiderLily: What about it, Madoka?_

_Mado-nyan: i told u_

_Mado-nyan: i get calld that alot_

_Mado-nyan: but_

_Mado-nyan: umm_

_Mado-nyan: not, like_

_Mado-nyan: pretty_

_Mado-nyan: or_

_Mado-nyan: uh_

_Mado-nyan: …_

_Mado-nyan: booty full_

In another time, another life, Homura might’ve had occasion to laugh at the unfortunate typo.  But not right now.

These days, her laughter was a very rare thing.  And besides…

Her chest was pounding _far_ too hard for anything else.

 

_Mado-nyan: sorry i_

_Mado-nyan: i mean_

_Mado-nyan: its not liek theres any boys i can ask_

_Mado-nyan: or anyting_

_Mado-nyan: thatd be…_

_Mado-nyan: um_

_Mado-nyan: way 2 embrasing_

Homura agreed that she would _certainly_ prefer Madoka not to ask any boys whether they found her “pretty.”

Though perhaps for slightly different reasons.

_Mado-nyan: but_

_Mado-nyan: but i thought_

_Mado-nyan: maybe_

_Mado-nyan: with u_

_Mado-nyan: itd b difrent_

_Mado-nyan: …_

_Mado-nyan: im so sorry_

_Mado-nyan: thats awful_

Homura was about to ask for clarification, but before she could click “Send” another torrent of messages flooded in.

 

_Mado-nyan: ure a person not a prop_

_Mado-nyan: just cuz ure gay i shouldnt_

_Mado-nyan: treat u any difrent_

_Mado-nyan: that was sell fish of me_

_Mado-nyan: god im_

_Mado-nyan: i feel so bad_

_Mado-nyan: just 4get i sed anyting_

_Mado-nyan: please i_

_Mado-nyan: i just_

_SpiderLily: Madoka._

_SpiderLily: You are the most beautiful girl I have ever met in my life._

 

Homura’s eyes went wide, looking at the screen, and then down at her fingers.  _Why_ had she typed that?

She was already in a compromised state, after that conversation behind the gym.  Not all her defenses were back up.

She needed to _stop,_ right now.  She needed to…

 

_SpiderLily: I mean that sincerely.  If your question is whether I am physically attracted to you, then the answer is yes._

_SpiderLily: Your hair, your face, your body.  All are incredibly attractive.  You shouldn’t doubt yourself like that.  You shouldn’t doubt that you are a very pretty young woman._

_SpiderLily: And I’ll tell you the same thing a hundred times over if I have to._

 

The raven-haired girl gazed upon her messages in stunned horror.  _Why_ couldn’t she stop herself?

This wasn’t one of her nighttime fantasies, imagining impossible scenarios where her feelings, her desires, might actually be _returned._

This was the _real_ Madoka, and these were _real_ words she was sending her.  Words she couldn’t take back.

And yet, at the same time, it was _so_ similar to any number of those fantasies.  Where the sweet, innocent girl would come to her more worldly best friend, confiding feelings and emotions she hadn’t yet come to grips with.

Feelings they could explore _together._   Slowly.  Gradually.

Or, when those fantasies happened to come in that twilight hour right before waking…

Sometimes a little _less_ slowly.

Homura pulled at her collar, feeling suddenly very hot.  Her screen, the teacher, the room – everything was starting to spin.

Utterly disoriented, her arm shot into the air.  “Saotome-sensei, I think I need to see the nurse,” she half-said, half-shouted.

She’d just been desperate to get some fresh air; to get away from all these people so she could calm down her treacherous heart.  It was a mark of how screwed-up her mind was, that she hadn’t considered what this would obviously lead to.

“Oh…alright then…” replied Kazuko Saotome, clearly off-put from being interrupted in the middle of her latest rant.  “Kaname-san, please escort Akemi-san to the nurse’s office.”

“Umm…okay,” stuttered the last voice Homura needed to hear right now.  “F…Follow me, Homura-chan.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Madoka kept stealing glances at the other girl as they walked down the hall side-by-side, uncertain how to break the silence or even whether or not she should.

God, she was so _stupid._   What’d she been _thinking,_ asking a question like that?  It was grossly inappropriate, offensively objectifying, pathetically needy…

And had also given her exactly the answer she’d been most hoping for, in her heart of hearts.

For the hundredth time in so many seconds, Madoka mentally chastised herself.  Obviously, when presented with such a stupidly attention-seeking question, _most_ people weren’t going to say, “Well actually, I happen to find you utterly hideous, and wouldn’t consider dating you if you were the last person on Earth.”

That _had_ to be all this was.  Homura was just being a good friend, and trying to boost her rock-bottom levels of self-esteem.  A situation she put the brunette in _far_ too often.

Still, she’d clearly made things very awkward.  Homura wasn’t the most talkative sort even on the best of days, but she’d never given Madoka _this_ much of the cold shoulder.

She _needed_ to fix this.

“Uh…Homu-chan…” she finally managed to say.  “I…I’m sorry I keep apologizing, but…”

She was acutely aware of the irony in that statement, but neither of them commented on it.

Instead, she swallowed audibly, and then told the other girl, “But what I did back there wasn’t right.  I stepped over the line, and instead of calling me out, you were nothing but kind and wonderful.  Thank you, Homu-chan…for being the friend I needed today.”

Homura stopped short.

For the briefest of moments, Madoka felt an intense pang of déjà vu.  Looking around, the feeling made sense; they were in the very same enclosed hallway where Homura had asked her that strange question, the day she transferred in.

And yet, that wasn’t _all_ the feeling was.  Had…Had that been the _first_ time they’d stopped cold in this hallway, overlooking the rest of campus?

Of course it was, the rational part of her mind argued.  That’d been the first time she and Homura had _met._

So…why couldn’t she get the question out of her head?

That small mystery would have to wait, because Homura was facing her now, and her lips were moving.

“Madoka, I…” she said, her voice surprisingly soft and hesitant.  She didn’t really sound like herself at all.  “I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

The pink-haired girl’s lips quivered at her friend’s tone – at the sheer _pain_ in her words.

“Wh…What do you mean, Homura-chan?” she asked.

“…Pretending,” responded Homura, after a noticeable pause.  “Pretending like everything’s normal when it isn’t.  Pretending as if I don’t…as if you and I…”

Madoka’s rose-colored eyes went wide, as she saw tears begin to form in Homura’s indigo ones.

“This is everything I’ve ever wanted.  And yet it’s _nothing_ like what I want,” she continued on, voice barely a whisper.  “And I’ve spent so long telling myself that what I want doesn’t _matter_ that I…!”

The girl tensed up, her throat closing, unable to say anymore.  She was gripping onto herself, desperately looking _anywhere_ but in Madoka’s eyes.

“H…Homura-chan…” mumbled Madoka, as she felt her own tears begin to stream down her cheeks.  “Talk to me.”

But Homura’s gaze remained askance, as she frantically blinked away the mist.

Then, lips barely moving, she said the words, “I’m sorry.  I’m not strong enough.”

And leapt straight through the glass windows surrounding the hallway, toward the ground fifty meters below.


	8. Would You Believe Me If I Told You

“ _Shhh_ …it’s alright, Kaname-san,” said the school nurse, patting the teenaged girl soothingly across the back.  “No need to worry.  No need to be afraid.”

“You don’t _understand!_ ” wailed Madoka, struggling to fight her way out of the woman’s grip.  Messy tears were running down her face.  “It’s Homura-chan!  You have to help her!  She…She _jumped!_   She could be…dead…”

Saying the last word out loud took all the fight out of her bones, and she very nearly collapsed.

The nurse frowned.  “Are you talking about Homura Akemi?” she asked.  “I haven’t seen her.  A teacher discovered you unconscious in the hallway, alone.  It looked like you’d fainted for some reason, so they brought you to me.”

For the first time, Madoka’s conscious mind properly acknowledged that she was sitting on a hospital bed.

The girl’s lip quivered mightily, as she struggled to hold herself together long enough to explain.

“We were…just talking…” she muttered, forcing out the words.  “She started to get really sad, and then she apologized to me, and then…”

She swallowed, hard, before choking out, “She…jumped.  Right out the window…”

The older woman’s brow furrowed together.  “That’s a very serious claim you’re making, Kaname-san,”  she said.  Nevertheless, she pulled out her tablet and opened a notetaking app.  “Now, this was the glass hallway between buildings B and C?  That’s where you were found.”

Madoka nodded, dimly.

“But I’m pretty sure Shinbo-sensei would’ve noticed a girl-sized hole in the glass,” the nurse pointed out.  “And he certainly didn’t mention anything to me.  Still…just to be on the safe side, I’ll make some calls.  Have security check the hallway and the field below it.”

The pink-haired girl’s shoulders relaxed, if only a little bit.  “Thank you,” she responded with a sniff.

Madoka spent nearly the next full hour sitting in the nurse’s office, waiting for news.  At one point, purely out of the need to do something with her hands, she pulled out her phone; she’d managed to miss five emails from Sayaka, three from Hitomi, and even one from Kyoko.

She didn’t have the presence of mind to really compose a proper reply, however – and that was assuming she could even get her hands to stop shaking.  So eventually she just put the phone back in her pocket and leaned down across the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

What could’ve _possibly_ driven Homura to such a horrible act?  She knew there was a lot her friend wasn’t telling her; serious stuff.  But she never would’ve thought she’d go _this_ far…

This wasn’t something she was really equipped to _deal_ with.  She didn’t know anything about suicidal ideation, or mental illness in general.  Madoka only even knew _that_ term because of a medical drama her mom watched about a psych hospital in Hawaii.

And that was _if_ Homura had even survived the attempt.  That hallway was about fifty meters above ground level.  No matter how athletic and in-shape Homura was, it was doubtful anyone could…

Madoka didn’t finish the thought.  Lacking anything else to do, she pulled her knees up to her chest and held herself tight, trying to stave off fresh tears.

She didn’t move again until the nurse returned, this time with an entourage.  There was Saotome-sensei, and a young male teacher she had to assume was Shinbo-sensei.  There was also a burly man with a radio, presumably a security guard, as well as a middle-aged woman Madoka had occasionally seen around but never spoken to: Aoki-sensei, the principal of Mitakihara Middle School.

“You must be Kaname-san,” said the latter, her voice kindly but very serious.  “I thank you for bringing this matter to our attention.  Unfortunately – or perhaps it’s better to say fortunately – we were unable to find any evidence to substantiate your claim of a suicide attempt by one of my students.”

“Glass is completely intact, an’ we checked the whole area underneath.  Nothin’,” added the guard.  “Even tried all the other glass-lined hallways, jus’ in case.  Not a trace.”

“And regardless, that glass is specially designed _specifically_ to make things like this difficult,” offered Shinbo-sensei, whom Madoka belatedly remembered taught an architecture elective.  “It’s tamper-proof…very resistant to concussive force.  A car could crash through, but a petite, fourteen-year-old girl?”

“But the biggest piece of counter-evidence…” the nurse finished, before Madoka could get a word in edgewise.  “Is right here.”

She stepped aside, allowing the person behind her to step forward.

It was Homura Akemi, without a single scratch marring her flesh.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Whadaya think was up with Akemi?” asked Kyoko, between bites of three different snacks.  She was holding them between her fingers and chomping at each in sequence.  “An’ Kaname too, fer that matter.  They disappeared ta the nurse’s office an’ never came back.  Ooh, do ya think…”

“Can it with your little ‘theories,’ Kyoko.  Not in the mood,” Sayaka snapped, sensing the mischievous lilt in her roommate’s tone and cutting it off immediately.  “Madoka probably just didn’t wanna leave Akemi while she was sick.  She’s that kinda person.”

“I just hope it’s nothing serious,” said Hitomi.  “I saw security guards running around when we were leaving class.”

The trio were seated beneath a tree in one of the school’s open fields, eating their lunches.  Their “normal spot” on the rooftop didn’t seem right to use without Madoka present.

“You know, I believe that older girl – Tomoe-senpai – was absent today as well.  My cousin shares homeroom with her,” continued the green-haired girl, after a few moments.  “Normally I wouldn’t think much of it, but after yesterday…”

“Okay, _that_ one’s a stretch even fer me,” replied Kyoko, waving a hand dismissively.  “Blondie went total cuckoo-pants on us yesterday.  No surprise she’s sleepin’ the next one off.  Don’t see a connection…unless ya think Tomoe passed on some o’ her crazy bugs.”

“Well maybe not _that,_ precisely.  I just mean to say…” Hitomi began, but she was cut off by a male voice.

“Oh, Hitomi-chan!  Sayaka-chan!  I don’t usually see you around here for lunch,” called out Kyosuke Kamijou, walking over with a bit of difficulty.  A month after getting out of the hospital, his legs were mostly back to normal, but he still moved with a slight limp.  “Do you mind if I join you?”

“If…If it’s no trouble…” said Hitomi, casting a brief, nervous glance in Sayaka’s direction.  The blue-haired girl looked askance, unsure how to respond.

She was happy for her two friends, genuinely, but they’d also never really sat down and had a proper conversation about what’d passed between them.  Sayaka wasn’t sure she was _capable_ of having a conversation like that.

To her great surprise, she felt something on her shoulder.  Turning, she saw Kyoko hastily pulling her hand back, her face turned in the other direction.  It was almost as if the redhead had been trying to…

Sayaka shook her head, took a deep breath, then told her second-oldest friend, “Sure thing, Kyosuke.  Take a seat.”

“Thanks, Sayaka.  It’s been a long time since we’ve really gotten to talk,” stated the boy gratefully, sidling up next to his girlfriend.  “You know…I never really got a chance to properly thank you for all that time you spent with me in the hospital.  Cheering me up, bringing me music.  I was going through so much of my own crap that I didn’t appreciate it.”

“That’s, uh…that’s okay, Kyosuke…” muttered Sayaka, eyes turned to the ground.

“No, it’s not.  I acted like a real jerk, and I’m sorry,” Kyosuke insisted.  “You’re one of my closest friends.  I never would’ve gotten through my physical therapy, reconnected with the violin, found Hitomi…if it wasn’t for you.  So thank you, Sayaka.  For everything.”

Despite everything that’d transpired, those words actually _did_ make Sayaka smile.  “You’re welcome,” she said, voice very quiet, but meaning every word.

There probably never _would_ be any reconciliation between the three of them; not one that would really satisfy her.  For one thing, it wasn’t like Kyosuke was even _aware_ of how she felt about him.  Hitomi had guessed, but then Hitomi had always been a _lot_ shrewder than her current partner about matters of the heart.

Part of her would always love him.  Deep down, in the very pit of her soul, the embers of those feelings were impossible to fully extinguish.

But she’d accepted the way things were.  And, if perhaps a little counterintuitively, these last few words _had_ helped.

“Took a lotta balls ta say that, kid,” drawled Kyoko, breaking through her reverie.  “Woulda taken a few more ta say it a month ago.”

“Kyoko!” gasped the blue-haired girl, but Kyosuke waved it off.

“Nah, I deserved that.  Probably deserved a bit more,” he said.  “I’m not sure if we’ve been properly introduced, by the way.  My name is Kyosuke Kamijou.  How do you know Sayaka-chan?”

“Kyoko Sakura.  Pleasure’s all yers,” she answered dryly.  “An’ I jus’ happen ta live with her, fer yer information.”

“Oh…right.  I didn’t realize…but I guess if Sayaka’s parents are okay with it…” mumbled Kyosuke, his face suddenly reddening for some odd reason.  “ _Ahem_ …sorry.  I’m surprised you’d take that step so young, is all.  But it’s not my position to judge.  If you make Sayaka-chan happy, then you’re okay in my book.”

There was silence over the group for several minutes.  Then, Sayaka’s face gradually became about ten shades more colorful than her male friend’s.

“Wh…Wh… _What do you think you’re getting at_ … _!_ ” she stammered, hands flying over her mouth.

Kyosuke shrugged.  “I mean…I was always pretty sure,” he said.  “Ever since you, me, and Madoka-chan played Sailor Scouts when we were kids, and you always wanted to be Sailor Neptune.”

“Because she had the best hair and the coolest powers!” exclaimed Sayaka, still panicking.  “Not because she’s, umm…y’know…”

“Michiru _does_ have the best voice, I’ll give ya that much,” Kyoko was forced to admit.

“I’m sorry if I was wrong.  I just always kind of assumed,” Kyosuke went on, trying to be placating in both his tone and body language.  “There were other signs, too, but I won’t get into that.  What I mean to say is…you’re my friend, Sayaka-chan.  And I support you no matter what.”

Sayaka sat there in silence, trying to process all this.  Did that mean that, after all those years spent hopelessly pining over this guy, the only reason he hadn’t responded in kind…

Was that he thought she was _gay?!_

Which…she was, sort of.  That kind of made it hard to blow up at him.  But while she was briefly tempted to scream “I’m bi, you ass!” in his face, ultimately she said nothing.

What’d be the point in correcting his misconception?  He didn’t have any say in her relationships anymore, with guys _or_ girls.

Not that she was _looking_ for either one, of course.  Nope.  No sirree.

And _especially_ not with the individual he was quite blatantly implying.

“Sorry ta burst yer yuri fan bubble, but me an’ yer ‘childhood friend’ are jus’ roommates.  Miki family took me in, gave me a roof,” said Kyoko, saving Sayaka the trouble – for which the blue-haired girl was immensely grateful.

She was _less_ grateful when she quickly added, “O’ course, if La Blue Girl was ever interested in _changin’_ that situation a bit…”

What followed was an only vaguely coherent argument and physical tussle between Sayaka and Kyoko, with Kyosuke looking on with confusion and Hitomi mostly just bemoaning the scandalous nature of the implications.

For the moment, the matters of Madoka Kaname, Homura Akemi, and Mami Tomoe were forgotten.

 

[--------------------]

 

The first thing Homura did once they were reunited was pull Madoka into a tight hug.  It did not help Madoka’s precarious mental state.

“Saotome-sensei told me what happened, Madoka.  God, I must’ve scared you so badly.  I owe you an apology,” she said, before releasing her friend and turning to the adults.  “Aoki-sensei, please give me an opportunity to explain myself.”

“I think that would be best,” responded the older woman.  “Go on, Akemi-san.”

“When Madoka and I were talking on the way to the nurse’s office, I…became very upset.  I’d prefer not to go into detail, if that’s alright,” Homura told them coolly.  “I said some things that I regret.  One of those was, indeed…a threat to kill myself.”

She took a steadying breath, before quickly adding, “Let me be clear: it wasn’t Madoka’s fault in _any_ way.  But I believe hearing those words must’ve caused a severe shock to her system.  She collapsed and fainted.  My guess is that, in her haze, she imagined that very scenario in her head – even if not all the details lined up quite right.”

Madoka’s brow scrunched up.  That couldn’t be right…could it?  It’d all seemed so real…

But then, she’d felt the same way about that strange dream where Homura got shot…

“I’ll admit, I panicked.  I should’ve brought Madoka to the nurse’s office myself, but I didn’t trust my shaking hands,” continued the brunette.  “Instead I made a noise to alert Shinbo-sensei, and then fled.  I hid myself in a bathroom for the rest of the period.”

“Eventually, once she calmed herself down, she sent a message to my school email,” said Kazuko Saotome, jumping in with a reassuring smile.  “I found her in the restroom and took her straight here.”

“How are you feeling now, Akemi-san?” asked Shinbo-sensei.

“I do not feel that I am a danger to myself, if that’s what you are asking,” Homura answered promptly.  “But I understand that may not be enough at this point.”

The principal slowly shook her head.  “I’m afraid not, Akemi-san,” she stated.  “If you verbally expressed a desire to commit suicide, even if that desire was fleeting, we have no choice but to take additional steps.  It’s the law.”

“I understand,” murmured Homura, bowing her head toward the older woman.  “And I’ll accept whatever recourse is necessary.  But please…don’t let any of it fall on Madoka.  She was just doing her best to help.”

“Be that as it may, such… _vivid_ hallucinations could be a sign of something more serious,” the nurse cut in, her tone kindly but clinical.  “I expect part of the required actions will be a psychiatric evaluation for Akemi-san.  As a clinician, I would also strongly suggest therapy for Kaname-san – at minimum separately, and possibly also together.”

“If she is feeling up for it,” said the principal.  “How about it, Kaname-san?  Please know that there’s no shame in therapy, especially at your age.  And I expect it might help Akemi-san if she was going through this experience with a friend.”

“I…” started Madoka, before her breath hitched.  She turned to Homura, unsure what to say, before looking into the other girl’s indigo eyes and recognizing what she saw there.

 _Loneliness._   The very same as she’d seen a few days ago, when she’d resolved to break through the raven-haired girl’s shell, and make her truly smile again.

Her newfound… _feelings,_ shouldn’t get in the way of that.  Her priority was still the same.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” she eventually finished, staring straight at Homura as she did.  “If it means helping out Homura-chan.”

“That’s very brave of you.  Both of you,” replied Shinbo-sensei, his smile warm if a little forced.  “Apologies, but I have a class to get to in three minutes, so…”

“Of course, of course.  I believe we can take it from here,” said Aoki-sensei at once.  “Although I think the calls to the families would best come from you, Saotome-sensei.  You’re their homeroom teacher, after all.  And I believe you know Kaname-san’s mother socially?”

“I’m afraid that may be difficult in my case,” Homura spoke up, her voice neutral and nearly toneless.  “I do not have a family.  On paper, my guardian is the director of the Kaminaga Christian Home for Girls, but he is in Asunaro City.  At present, I live alone.”

“But she’s staying with me for the week!” Madoka quickly exclaimed.  “With my aunties – Akane Inoue and Shion Kunizuka.  Of the Mitakihara Police Department.”

Kazuko was unable to suppress a small chuckle.

“I was tempted to make a joke about getting the mandatory reporting to families and law enforcement done at the same time…but it really doesn’t seem very appropriate,” she explained, looking admonished.  “But if they’re both staying in the same household, that does seem the best place to make the call.  I’ll go take care of that now.  Kaname-san, do you have the number?”

Madoka gave it to her, and their English teacher scampered off without another word – though she did flash the two girls a parting smile.  Then they were left with the principal and the nurse; the security guard seemed to have left some time ago, though they hadn’t really noticed.

“Now, I want you both to know how seriously we take an incident like this,” declared Aoki-sensei, the moment they were alone.  “But I _also_ want you to know that neither of you are in any kind of trouble.  This isn’t about passing judgment, or inflicting punishment.  This is about making sure you stay on a happy, healthy path.”

“And we appreciate it very much,” said Homura.  She bowed her head again.  “For now, though…would it be possible for me to lie down for a little while?  And, erm…to have some time to talk with Madoka?”

“I don’t think we can leave you completely unsupervised so soon after this incident.  But I understand your desire for privacy,” the nurse told her, placing a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.  “Tell you what.  Aoki-sensei, why don’t you come with me into my office?  We’ll be able to see you through the glass, but we won’t hear anything.”

The principal nodded and followed the nurse, taking seats in the small room and beginning to process some paperwork.

Which left Madoka and Homura alone with each other for the first time since that moment in the hall.

“Madoka, I want to…” the brunette began to say, but Madoka held up a shaking hand.

“You…You can’t fool me the same way twice.  Something’s going on, and you’re not telling me what,” she said, her voice quivering just as much as her body.  But she pushed on nevertheless.  “So p…please.  Just…Just…”

She took a deep breath, screwing up every last bit of her limited well of courage.

“Just tell me the truth, Homura-chan.”

 

[--------------------]

 

“Experiment number thirty-three,” the Magical Girl read over the radio, her emerald-green eyes focused upon the security camera feed.  “Go ahead, beloved.”

“Right!” shouted her lover, grinning as she hefted her latest tool into her arms, and – with some difficulty – began revving it up.

The tool, a heavy-duty industrial chainsaw, burst to life.  Under normal circumstances, it would’ve been nearly impossible for a girl of her size and build to wield it effectively…

But magic really was one hell of a drug.

“Alright, Titzilla,” she said, turning to her tied up and lifeless quarry.  “Nothin’ personal, jus’ so we’re clear.  But hey.  _Someone_ has ta bear this shit in the name o’ science, or whatever.  Get ready, mistress!”

She placed the whirring blades next to Mami Tomoe’s neck…and then began to slice straight across.

Inexperienced as she was with such equipment, her “work” was slipshod and messy.  But ultimately, she got the job done.  The blonde’s head fell from her shoulders, and landed at her feet in a pool of blood.

“…Gruesome, but effective,” the first girl eventually declared, after mastering her initial reaction – which was to vomit over the floor.  This’d been her idea, and it _needed_ to happen, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.  “Of course, if we’d done this while her Soul Gem was in range, we’d likely have a Witch on our hands now.  Assuming _that_ also holds true in this world.  We need to test that point eventually, but certainly not in such a confined space.”

“Yeah, not really feelin’ the idea o’ gettin’ turned inta Witch food if I can help it,” remarked her partner, fiddling with her earpiece with one hand and lazily swinging around the bloody chainsaw with the other.  “Not that I wouldn’t if _you_ asked, mistress!  But…”

The first girl sighed.  “I’ve told you over and over, dearest.  While I appreciate the impulse, I have no interest in you destroying yourself for my sake,” she said.  “Now, hurry along.  Proceed to phase two of the experiment.”

Her lover nodded vigorously toward the security camera, before touching the pale yellow citrine on her ring finger.  It flashed briefly, before settling in her palm and taking a new shape: her very own Soul Gem.

“Now let’s get ya all fixed up, Li’l Miss Bimbo…” she whispered, grabbing Mami’s decapitated head by the hair and hoisting it awkwardly back onto the messy stump.  “Good thing we’re basically dead already, or this’d _never_ work!  Maybe?  Probably.  Never really paid attention in biology class.”

As she rambled, she was running her Soul Gem along the gaping wound, allowing her magic to leak out freely.  All Magical Girls had the power to heal, though some were more effective than others; in order to restore this body, she had to use a _lot_ of her normally combat-oriented power.

But it was worth it.  Because her mistress said it was.  Even if she didn’t see the full picture here, that wasn’t her role.

Her role was to follow orders, and obey.

A few minutes later, Mami’s head was fully reattached, without even a single scar to hint that it’d ever been otherwise.  Of course, that was only half the story.

The first girl turned to a laptop, and quickly inputted a few keystrokes.  This computer was on a separate network, and linked to a drone.  At her command, the drone moved several meters closer to their current location.

Bringing the Soul Gem hidden inside within range once more.

Life suddenly flared back into Mami Tomoe’s golden eyes, and she briefly resumed twisting around in panic.  She’d been conscious for the last “experiment,” before the drone took her Gem beyond a hundred meters, and had no conception whatsoever of the missing time.

Of the hours and _hours_ of missing time they’d accumulated today.

“Wh…What?  Weren’t…Weren’t you over…” she stammered, her voice not at all affected by the fact that her throat had been bisected two minutes ago.  She was staring at her captor, confused – from her perspective, she’d moved across the room and picked up a chainsaw in the blink of an eye.  “And…why is there so much _blood_ … _?_ ”

“Quiet down, blondie.  Kinda in the middle o’ somethin’,” said the girl, rolling an eye.  “We ready ta move on, mistress?”

“Yes, I think that would be best,” she replied, which must’ve only confused Mami more; thanks to her earpiece, her partner was the only one who could hear her voice.  “Preparing for experiment number thirty-four.”

She entered another command for the drone, moving it out of range once more.  Mami Tomoe gasped for a moment, and then slumped over in the chair she was tied to.

“Sweet!” exclaimed the girl right next to her, dropping the chainsaw unceremoniously into the blood on the floor and grinning cheekily.  “I’ll go get the flamethrower.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Homura Akemi blinked several times, unsure whether she’d just heard correctly.

“Madoka, I…” she said, a bit hesitantly.  “I mean to say, I’m not…”

“Homura-chan.  I may not pick up on everything all the time, but I’m not stupid,” interrupted the pink-haired girl, looking almost surprised at her own nerve.  “I know you’ve been hiding stuff from me for a while, and that’s okay.  I mean…I’m not _entitled_ to know all your secrets, or anything.  But…”

The girl swallowed, and let out a deep breath.

“But I said you can tell me anything, and I _meant_ it,” she went on, her tones firm despite her quivering lips.  “You don’t have to keep everything bottled up all the time.  It’s not right, and it’s not healthy.  I wanna help you, Homura-chan.  Because…I think you need it.”

The brunette had no idea what to say.  She just stood there, nearly motionless, but for the involuntary twitching of her fingers as she tried and failed to summon up _some_ kind of response.

Eventually, all she could think to murmur was, “I don’t need help, Madoka.”

“But you do.  You _do,_ okay?” said Madoka, half-exasperated.  “And that doesn’t make you weak!  It doesn’t change that you’re brilliant, and wonderful, and…!”

For some reason, a hitch formed in the other girl’s voice, and she abruptly looked askance.

Then, after inhaling and exhaling a few times, she continued, “I know I’ve got… _no_ idea what I’m talking about.  Not the first clue.  But there’s been _something_ eating at you since the day we met, and every day it gets harder and harder to watch.  Today was the last straw.  I _can’t_ just sit by anymore.”

“Madoka, I appreciate the sentiment.  Truly,” Homura replied hurriedly, trying to cut her off from potentially dangerous avenues.  “But it’s really not as serious as you’re making it sound.  I just…”

“I know what I saw.  I know you j…jumped,” stuttered the pink-haired girl, and she was clearly forcing herself not to break eye contact again.  “Your story may’ve fooled the teachers, but I know better.  I don’t get _how,_ but I…I…”

Homura was taken aback by the accusation.  “Madoka…think about what you’re saying,” she spoke softly.  “Think about what the teachers pointed out.  How would I have fixed the window so quickly?  How could I not be injured?”

“I told you, I don’t _know!_ ” said Madoka, before biting her lip.  “I just know…I’m not capable of imagining something that feels that _real._   And it isn’t the first time.  That’s how I can be so sure, Homura-chan.”

She looked forward, staring into the other girl’s cold eyes with purpose, and added, “You really _did_ get shot the other day.  Please don’t try to deny it.”

The raven-haired girl took a step back, completely at a loss for words.  Despite all her meticulous planning, she hadn’t made any preparations for _this._   None at all.

A million ideas jockeyed for attention in her head at once, nearly all of them terrible.  Over the course of countless time flows, she’d become an incredibly adept liar; her perfectly rehearsed story for the adults was proof.

But no matter how much she practiced, there was always _one_ person whose talent for peering into her soul could catch her off-guard.  And her ability to improvise on the spot had always been severely deficient, compared to her preference for strategizing everything ahead of time.

The simplest option, and the most tempting, was simply to alter Madoka’s memories with magic once more.  But clearly, that was only a temporary measure.  If she could break through the fog Homura had used to convince her the shooting was only a dream _once,_ then she could do it again.

Besides…it was getting harder and harder to hide things from the girl who knew her so well.  If she kept stonewalling her, the risk of _something_ slipping out only grew greater with each passing day.  Something she couldn’t afford Madoka even a _hint_ of.

Her… _lapse_ …in the chat only strengthened those fears.

Perhaps the best solution was to offer Madoka a _small_ piece of the truth.  The less she had to lie about, the less likely she was to trip up.

Homura took a deep breath, out of habit if not necessity, and for the first time in this conversation, met Madoka’s gaze with full and equal force.

Then she asked, “Madoka…would you believe me if I told you I have magical powers?”

 

[--------------------]

 

“So that’s hospital-boy,” said Kyoko conversationally, as she and her roommate walked down the halls to return to class.  They’d left the happy couple behind, as they both had music classes – violin and piano respectively – on the other side of campus.  “Gotta tell ya, after ya built him up so much I expected more of a hunk.”

Sayaka flushed furiously.  “I’m not really attracted to…umm…y’know.  _That,_ ” she responded, hardly believing they were having this conversation.  “Look, I…I fell for him for a lotta reasons, alright?”

“Guess I _can_ see how ya’d find him handsome, in like…that tragic, _tortured_ artist way,” remarked the redhead, deliberately ignoring her obvious embarrassment.  “Me, I like a li’l more meat on a dude’s bones.  An’ on a chick…lean, mean…”

She rapped her knuckles against Sayaka’s flat stomach through the fabric of her uniform, and added teasingly, “Abs fer _days_ …”

“Sh…Sh… _Shut up!_ ” yelped the blue-haired girl, backing away with an increasingly pink face.  “So I keep in shape, so what?  Why’ve you gotta turn everything so…so _dirty?_ ”

At this, the mischievous grin suddenly disappeared from Kyoko’s face entirely, replaced by a frown and a low growl.

“Oh, I dunno,” she muttered back.  “Why does one person aggressively flirt with another every single chance she gets?  Take a damn _hint,_ girl.”

“Geez, Kyoko, where’s this coming from?” said Sayaka, taken aback by the abrupt change in her roommate’s demeanor.

“Where do ya _think?_ ” demanded Kyoko, stopping in her tracks and swiveling around, long red hair following her in an arc.  For the first time, Sayaka realized they were alone in this hallway.  “I…I was…”

She swallowed, hands clenched into tight fists, before going on, “Look, I was _jealous,_ alright?  It…It was one thing when Mr. Tall-Dark-an’-Mozart was jus’ this guy ya’d go on ‘bout every once in a while.  Or think ‘bout when ya frig yerself, I assume.”

That did not help the temperature situation in Sayaka’s cheeks one iota.

“But seein’ ya today?  The way ya look at him?  The way ya look at _them?_ ” the words continued to tumble from Kyoko’s throat.  “Yer still carryin’ a torch, don’t try ta deny it.  Yer _tryin’_ ta move on cuz ya know that’s what a ‘good friend’ would do, an’ _heaven forbid_ Saint Sayaka ever fail ta martyr herself on the altar o’ never bein’ selfish fer _once_ in her goddamn life…!”

“Kyoko, settle down!” exclaimed the blue-haired girl.  “Look, sure…I’m probably _always_ gonna have feelings for Kyosuke.  I can’t help it.  But that ship’s sailed and I’ve accepted that.  It was hard, but I _did._   Because I love him _and_ Hitomi too much to ruin what they have.”

“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout that!” said Kyoko, now looking like she was close to tearing out her hair in sheer frustration.  “I’m talkin’ ‘bout bein’ honest with yerself, fer _once!_   It’s okay, y’know… _not_ ta feel okay!  Ta admit yer kinda sorta _pissed off!_   Ta admit there’s a little tiny bit o’ ya that resents how things turned out!”

“And so what if there is?!” Sayaka shot back, now matching her in volume and intensity.  It was a miracle no one had come running to see what all the commotion was about.  “It doesn’t _change_ anything!  Holding onto that crap doesn’t make anything _better!_ ”

Abruptly, Kyoko seemed to deflate, backing away a step and breaking eye contact.

Her voice lowered, too, as she answered, “It matters ta _me,_ okay?  It matters how ya feel.  It matters if…I’m not makin’ ya happy.”

“Kyoko…” whispered Sayaka.

“I’m tired o’ playin’ this game, alright?” breathed the redhead, through gritted teeth.  “O’ dancin’ ‘round the fact that…that I want ya ta look at _me_ that way.  The way ya looked at him today.  I wanna be able ta make ya stop hurtin’ like this, jus’ by _bein’_ there.”

“Kyoko, what are you saying?” Sayaka asked, though a part of her knew the answer fully well.  She just didn’t want to give voice to it out loud.

“God…” said Kyoko, still scowling.  “Ya really are _fucking_ dense.”

That was all the warning she gave before closing the distance between herself and Sayaka…

And crashing her lips into hers.

 

[--------------------]

 

For the first few moments after Homura delivered her bombshell, nothing happened.  Madoka just stood there, frozen.

Then, suddenly, her legs began to wobble, as if made out of gelatin.  Hurriedly she backed up, so she could settle herself down onto the hospital bed.

“You’re…going to have to explain more to me,” she told her friend, wringing her hands and looking downward.

“I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to say, to be honest,” spoke Homura, her voice quiet.  Her face was turned away from the adults on the other side of the glass, presumably just in case they could read lips.  “The best way I can put it is that a long time ago, I was given power by an… _entity._   It lets me do things normal humans can’t.  Like run fast or leap super-high.  Or…heal from almost any injury.”

Madoka bit her lip.  “E…Even getting shot in the head?” she said.  “Even falling over fifty meters?”

“I didn’t actually hit the ground the second time, but yes.  Even if I had, I would’ve survived,” confirmed Homura with a small nod.

“And…my memories?” Madoka asked hesitantly.  “I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m accusing you, Homura-chan, but…”

“No, you’ve surmised correctly.  I do have… _limited_ ability to perform magic on another’s mind,” replied Homura, now looking rather guilty.  “But I assure you, it was nothing too onerous.  I simply put your body to sleep, and induced a state in your mind where you’d be more likely to dismiss any hazy memories as dreams.  Clearly, though, I’m not as adept as I thought.”

The pink-haired girl hemmed and hawed for a few moments, thinking things over.

“I guess this is one of those things where you have to keep your powers a secret?  Like in manga and stuff?” she eventually said.  “In that case…I guess it really couldn’t be helped.  You needed to protect your secret identity.  You’re like a superhero, Homura-chan!”

For one reason or another, the raven-haired girl let out a short huff of laughter, which seemed to have no humor in it.  “Yes, of course,” she muttered under her breath.  “A super _hero_ …”

Suddenly, Madoka gasped, hands flying over her mouth.  “Then…that means…” she stated, puzzling things out.  “You really _were_ shot by someone!  I mean…I know I said that before, but I didn’t really think about who _did_ it!  Were they criminals you stopped?  Other people with powers?”

“I don’t know who shot me.  And that’s the full, honest truth,” answered Homura.  “It’s true that I’ve made enemies in the past, yes.  Magic can be used to enhance ordinary objects or weapons, which is likely what happened there.  Hopefully, that’ll help me narrow down the search.”

Madoka nodded slowly, unsure what to add.  This was all making her head spin so much she was getting nauseous.

In some ways, this handily explained so many of the open questions she’d had about Homura since the day they met.  The unending secrecy; the taciturn demeanor; the constant, almost _military_ edge to her every movement.  That distant, haunted look in her eyes, as if she’d seen so much more than a fourteen-year-old girl had any right to.

If she was sneaking out all the time, fighting evil by moonlight, everything suddenly clicked into place.  And honestly, it made sense.

Were _she_ some kind of power-granting mascot creature, her first choice would _have_ to be someone as incredible, talented, and physically adept as Homura Akemi.

“Those powers sound really cool, Homura-chan,” she found herself saying, before she could stop herself.  “Do you work with any other people with magic, too?  How does it work?  Could…Could I, maybe…?”

She hadn’t meant to add that last part; it’d just slipped out.  Immediately she flushed, feeling embarrassed.  No matter _how_ this system worked, if there was an ‘entity’ dolling out powers then she very much doubted _she’d_ make the cut.

Still, Madoka hadn’t expected the other girl’s reaction at all.  Homura stiffened like a board, her entire body tensed like she was at the apex of a rollercoaster.

“Don’t even _think_ about that,” she snapped, surprising Madoka with the sheer emotion in her voice.  “Magic isn’t a gift, it’s a curse.  A curse that’s done nothing but bring misery for me, and everyone around me.”

Madoka shrunk back, feeling like a dog who’d just been rapped on the nose with a newspaper.  It must’ve shown on her face, because Homura’s expression quickly softened.

“I…appreciate the thought, Madoka.  But you _don’t_ know what you’re asking for,” she said.  “The reason I can take a bullet to the head and walk away afterward?  It’s because my body is no longer technically _alive._   If I decide not to, I don’t have to eat, or sleep, or breathe.  I’m not _human,_ Madoka.  Not anymore.”

“That’s not true!” Madoka exclaimed.  “Whatever happens with your body, that doesn’t change who _you_ are.  Not deep down inside.  I _believe_ in the girl I met last month.  The girl who’s my friend.  The girl who’s…who’s _my_ …”

Her throat ran dry, and she didn’t finish.  She was too cowardly to.

Another short period of silence followed these words, Madoka sitting on the edge of the hospital bed and Homura standing a meter away, not meeting each other’s eyes.

Eventually, the raven-haired girl mumbled, “You know…you’re taking this all quite in stride.  I’m surprised you didn’t just think I was a Chunibyo or something.”

“I told you, Homu-chan,” responded Madoka, filled with conviction on this point even if she was completely lacking it in others.  “I _believe_ in you.  Always.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Sayaka wanted very much to stop making out with her roommate; would’ve given up her phone, her game systems, and every last yen in her bank account to do so.

She _wanted_ to push the merciless flirt away, and tell her off for kissing her without her consent.  To chastise her, bonk her on the head, lay into her with every last ounce of that patented Sayaka Miki rage for the unforgivable crime of stealing her first kiss.

She had so many things she wanted to say, so many things she wanted to _do,_ that were impossible so long as her lips were still glued so closely to Kyoko’s.

So _why_ couldn’t she pull away?

It wasn’t that the redhead was holding onto her forcefully, or anything.  Indeed, at a certain point their roles seemed to have silently swapped, with Kyoko now pressed up against the wall by Sayaka’s small but _very_ firm chest.

Even through several layers of clothing each, she could feel the other girl’s breasts poking up tightly against her own, and it only made her devour Kyoko’s mouth even _more_ intensely.

She tasted almost _unbearably_ sweet, the flavors of all the dagashi snacks she’d consumed that day mixing together into something so overpowering, so _wrong,_ that her lips were almost like a drug.

One of Sayaka’s hands was along the small of her roommate’s back, while the other ran through her luxurious, apple-red hair, taking in the scent of all the spices she’d used to cook their lunches that morning.  It was exhilarating, _intoxicating._   So wonderful she hated every second of it, resenting just how _electrified_ every cell in her body now felt.

The two of them might’ve remained that way for another minute, or ten, or a hundred.  The last thing Sayaka was worried about right now was time, even though they _must_ be late to class by this point.

Miraculously, they’d _still_ managed to avoid running into anyone in this hallway thus far – or, if they had, the onlookers had politely chosen to silently move on.

It wasn’t like Sayaka would be able to tell the difference.  There was only one person her eyes were capable of seeing right now.

When they finally broke apart, it wasn’t for any dignified reason like Sayaka _finally_ gaining control over her own, traitorous body.  Rather, Kyoko had been slowly slipping down the wall as they went at it, just a millimeter or two at a time, and eventually both of them managed to lose their footing and fall smack-dab on their asses.

“Oof…that’s gonna sting in the mornin’,” said Kyoko, rubbing her butt with the back of her hand.  “Anyway, that was…uh…that was somethin’…”

“You bitch.  You absolute _bitch,_ ” Sayaka grumbled, without getting up.  “How could you do that to me?”

“Hey, ya didn’t exactly seem like an unwillin’ participant!” Kyoko shot back, as she got back to her feet and offered her roommate a hand back up.

Sayaka hesitated for a moment, ultimately accepting the gesture, though her face remained cross throughout.  “Th…That’s not the point!” she yelped.  “You just… _did_ it!  You didn’t even ask me first!”

To her great surprise, Kyoko actually looked a bit remorseful.  “Yeah, I know.  I let my emotions get the better o’ me, but that wasn’t fair ta ya,” she replied, casting a furtive glance at the ground.  “Look…I’m still new ta the whole ‘givin’ a crap ‘bout other people’ thing.  But I’m tryin’.  Fer yer sake.”

The two of them stood there for at least a full minute, taking heavy breaths to catch up on oxygen.  Eventually, despite a concerted effort to maintain it, Sayaka felt the edges of her anger ebbing away.

“Okay, look…I’m still mad at you,” she said.  “But I’m also gonna be honest with myself.  More honest than I’ve been in a while.  And the honest truth is…I wanna do that again.”

When Kyoko began moving forward, Sayaka hastily held up a hand and added, “Not now.  But…later, y’know?  When we’re alone.  When there’s maybe…less pressure.”

“Sure,” the redhead accepted readily, nodding repeatedly.  “Sure, I can do that.  Jus’ name the time an’ place.”

“And, when we do…” Sayaka continued to mutter, the pink in her cheeks increasing noticeably.  “I wanna talk.  _Really_ talk.  About what all… _this_ means.  To the both of us.”

Kyoko nodded one more time.  “You got it, g…” she started, before her voice abruptly cut off.

The blue-haired girl waited for several moments for her roommate to continue speaking, but Kyoko seemed to have suddenly become frozen like a statue.  Her entire body was rigid, unmoving, as she stared unblinkingly through a nearby window.

“Uh…Kyoko?  Earth to Kyoko?” said Sayaka, as she went to see what it was the other girl was staring at.  Once she did, she frowned.

There was an adult man standing in the middle of campus, staring straight up at them.  Despite the distance involved, these wall-length windows were entirely sheer, so it wasn’t unlikely he’d just gotten a _very_ fun show.

“God, what a perv,” she commented, rolling her eyes.  “Don’t think he’s a teacher.  Kinda seems dressed more like a…minister, or a priest, or something.  Think we should go report him to security?”

But the redhead still wasn’t saying anything.  Or…no, on second thought, she _was_ mouthing some words, her lips barely moving.

Sayaka had to strain to hear them, but eventually she realized the other girl was repeating on an endless loop, “It can’t be…It _can’t_ be…”

“Kyoko, what’s the matter?” asked Sayaka, grabbing her roommate by the shoulder and forcing her to face her.  “Do you know that guy?”

“He…He…” stammered Kyoko, sounding utterly unlike the cool, confident “bad girl” she’d come to know and… _care_ for.  “He should be _dead_ …”

“Kyoko, come out with it!” Sayaka exclaimed, briefly shaking the redhead to force out an answer.  “Who _is_ that guy?  Why’re you freaking out?  God, just _tell_ me what’s going…!”

“ _He’s my father!_ ”


	9. Let that Be a Lesson

“I…thought your parents had passed away, Kyoko…” said Sayaka awkwardly.  Her roommate didn’t talk about her past much, but that’d been the one piece that remained consistent.  “You said…”

“I _know_ what I said!” yelled the redhead, clutching at her shoulders and backing away.  There was a strange emptiness to her eyes.  “An’ it’s the truth!  He’s dead, mom’s dead, Momo’s fuckin’ _dead!_   I saw it happen!  I…I was…”

The blue-haired girl pulled her into a quick, one-armed hug, cutting her off.

“Kyoko…” she declared seriously.  “I think you need to tell me _exactly_ what happened to your family.”

Her roommate looked stricken at the very thought.  “I…don’t wanna think ‘bout that…” she mumbled, averting her quickly moistening eyes.  “Don’t…wanna _remember_ that…”

“Well your dead dad’s standing in the middle of our school, so it’s a little late to avoid the subject,” Sayaka cut her off, deciding on the spur of the moment that delivering a little tough love might be the best solution.  “But first: should we tell a teacher or something?”

“ _No!_ ” exclaimed Kyoko, perhaps a bit more loudly than she’d been intending.  “I…I mean…we got no idea what’s goin’ on, kay?  Don’t wanna get anyone else involved who doesn’t hafta be.”

“Fine.  But in that case, we’re gonna go check this out, _together,_ ” said Sayaka.  “And you’re gonna tell me the whole story on the way.  No ifs, ands, or buts.”

It was a mark of how serious things were right now that Kyoko didn’t make a crass joke about “butts.”

Instead, if more than a bit hesitantly, the redhead nodded.

“It’s not gonna be a pretty story, jus’ forewarnin’ ya,” she told her roommate, taking one last glance through the window before leaving.  The minister hadn’t moved a centimeter since they first spotted him.  “An’…it’ll probably make ya think o’ me different.”

Despite herself, Sayaka found her fingers lacing tightly around the other girl’s.  She fought off her initial urge to pull away and blush furiously, instead holding firm.

“I think you’ll find I’m feeling a little more open-minded than usual today,” she whispered with a smile.  “So go ahead.  Try me.”

 

[--------------------]

 

The mandatory actions to take place following a suicide attempt, it turned out, involved a copious amount of paperwork.

“I came as soon as Kazuko called,” said Akane Inoue, as she sat herself down next to the two teenagers.  On the other side of the table sat the principal, who quickly introduced herself and exchanged bows with the policewoman.  “How are you feeling, girls?”

“Better, I think,” replied Homura, hands folded in her lap.  “Getting to talk with Madoka one-on-one really helped.”

Madoka meekly nodded her agreement, but couldn’t think of anything else to add.

“That’s good to hear, Akemi-san.  You’re one of our brightest students, and I want you to know you’re supported here,” Aoki-sensei stated kindly.  “Now, this is a delicate matter, and I want to make clear that nothing leaves this room without Akemi-san’s express consent.  With the exception of mandated reporting to child welfare, which has already taken place.”

“I understand.  That’s fine,” murmured Homura, nearly tonelessly.

“Of course, this situation is complicated by Akemi-san’s… _unique_ circumstances,” the principal continued on.  “A message has been left with the director of her orphanage, but I was unable to speak with him directly.  And I fear that, with her living alone, any intervention he might be able to offer is of limited benefit.”

“That’s why it’s important to keep your friends close at times like these,” said Akane, giving both the girls’ shoulders a quick squeeze.  “Family is important, but theirs aren’t the _only_ bonds that can get us through dark days.”

The principal slid yet another file full of papers – in addition to all the ones Homura and Madoka were currently filling out – toward Akane.

“This is a listing of licensed therapists our school maintains a relationship with.  It is legally required that Akemi-san attend a minimum number of sessions, which will of course be compensated in full,” she explained.  “Kaname-san, you face no such requirement, but I would still _highly_ encourage you to join your friend in this healing process – at least to the degree both she and you are comfortable.”

“I think it would be helpful to have Madoka around as much as possible,” Homura told the adults, bowing her head toward the pink-haired girl.

Madoka bit her lip for a moment, suddenly feeling a bit put on the spot.  Nevertheless, she swallowed and declared, “I’m here for Homura-chan.  No matter what.”

A couple days ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated in emphasizing that point by taking Homura’s tender hand in her own.  Now…she wasn’t sure if that would help or hurt things.

“Thankfully, it doesn’t look as if word of this incident has spread far,” said Aoki-sensei, switching gears.  “Rumors and gossip can greatly worsen the impact of events like these.  Akemi-san, I trust that’s how you’d prefer to keep things?”

Homura nodded once, her head only moving the absolute minimum amount in each direction.

“Please keep this away from the media, if at all possible.  And I don’t want my classmates to know anything if they don’t have to,” she answered, though without any audible emotion.  “I… _appreciate_ your discretion, Aoki-sensei.”

“Of course.  Our concerns for your privacy are second only to our concerns for your safety.  If there’s _anything_ else I can do, you need but say the word,” spoke the principal.  “Now, Inoue-san…is it possible I could have a few minutes to speak with you alone?  Girls, you can wait right outside my office.  This shouldn’t take long.”

“Y…Yes, sensei,” stuttered Madoka, standing up from her chair altogether too quickly, before adding a hasty bow.

Neither Homura nor her aunt objected either, so she fell in step next to the former and left the room.

The moment the door to the office closed, Madoka let out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in.

“ _Whew_ …I’m not sure how you get through stuff like that every day, Homura-chan,” she said, looking at the raven-haired girl seriously.  “I mean, trying to hold all that in…pretending everything’s normal…”

“For me, Madoka, this _is_ normal,” she responded flatly.  “It’s been longer than I can possibly countenance that I _haven’t_ kept secrets.  Ordinary people can’t know the ugly truths of this world.  That’s a natural law, inherent to…who I am.  _What_ I am.”

“And…what about me?” asked Madoka, shuffling her feet hesitantly.  “I’m as ordinary as they come.  Why’d you decide to tell _me_ the truth?”

A strange look, one that Madoka couldn’t have begun to read if she tried, appeared in the other girl’s indigo eyes.  It was looks like these – so distant, so _piercing_ – that forced her to realize just how _little_ she understood her friend, deep down inside.

“I’ve tried lying to you before, Madoka.  I’ve tried hiding ugly truths and shielding you with ignorance,” Homura whispered.  “And in the end, I’ve always failed.”

Slowly, she took hold of Madoka’s hand once more, their fingers linking one by one.  In face of the severity of the situation, the pink-haired girl managed to keep her composure against the sudden contact – if only just.

“No matter what happens…no matter what it costs…” said the brunette, her expression now set with resolve.  “I will _always_ do everything I can to protect you.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Sayaka wasn’t sure what she’d been prepared for.  But it wasn’t _that._

Her mouth had kept on opening and closing for the past few minutes, without any sound coming out.  Surely, a good friend – or whatever you called two people who’d _thought_ they were friends, until their impromptu spit-sharing session in the hallway – would have _something_ to say at a time like this?

Kyoko was pouring out her heart and soul, and _she_ was flopping around like a dying fish.

“Oh, but don’t worry,” finished the redhead, the words pouring from her lips like a spigot now that she’d finally let them loose.  “Dear ol’ dad made sure we didn’t _suffer._   Quick stabs ta the head with a kitchen knife.  He was apologizin’ the whole time, can ya believe that?  Sayin’ the Lord’d forgive our sins, even if He didn’t forgive _his._   All while he tied the noose ‘round his own neck with one hand an’ set fire ta our home with the other.  Y’know…just ta be on the safe side.”

“God, Kyoko…” Sayaka gasped out, feeling like she was liable to retch any second.  They were the first words she’d managed to speak in nearly five minutes, so of course they were absolutely useless.

“Course, it became a big news story.  Not enough ministers in Japan that one o’ ‘em goin’ completely nuts an’ massacrin’ his whole family ‘scapes the headlines,” said Kyoko, showing no signs she’d heard the other girl.  “Thank God fer that fire, am I right?  Otherwise Mom an’ Momo’s bloody faces woulda been on the front page.  Burned ‘em beyond all recognition.”

“Kyoko!” exclaimed the blue-haired girl, unable to contain herself any longer.  “You…I mean… _this_ is what you’ve been keeping inside all this time?  _This_ is…is…”

“A shitshow.  A horror story.  A goddamn fuckin’ nightmare,” Kyoko interjected, her face and tone both more severe than Sayaka had ever seen before.  “Yeah, I _know._   Kinda sorta _lived_ it.  Big fuckin’ shocker I’m not in any hurry ta _re_ -live it.”

“I…I’m sorry…” Sayaka mumbled, looking askance.  “I never knew…never even _imagined_ …”

“Then let that be a lesson ta ya,” the redhead replied sternly.  “Don’t go judgin’ other people fer how they live.  Ya never _really_ know what’s tickin’ inside their heads.  Or what kinda shit they’re carryin’ ‘round.  Me?  I learned that day ta never look back.  Ta live in the moment.  Cuz any second…it can all come crashin’ down.”

The two were silent as they climbed down the final stairwell to reach the first floor.  Before they could make their way to the front door, however, Sayaka stopped in her tracks.

“I…I know it’s gotta be hard.  Harder than I can even _imagine,_ ” she said.  “But could you answer some questions for me?  About…that night…?”

“Don’t see what there is ta _explain_ that I haven’t already,” Kyoko tossed off, placing a stick of Rocky in her mouth just so that she could angrily crunch through it.  “Well, ‘cept how my clearly dead father is standin’ right outside those doors right now.  So why don’t we quit stallin’ an’ get _out_ there alr…”

“How did _you_ survive?” demanded Sayaka, cutting her roommate off.

For a few moments, Kyoko looked confused, as if she didn’t entirely understand the question.  “Well, I mean…obviously I jus’…” she started, before her mouth closed and her eyes went wide.

Something was slowly dawning on her, and it had her paralyzed with shock.

“I…remember gettin’ up.  Seein’ mom and Momo… _like_ that.  Seein’ the fire burnin’ ‘round me,” the words spilled from her throat, barely louder than a whisper.  “But I don’t…I don’t remember feelin’ any _pain._   I jus’…walked outta there.  Like the fire wasn’t even _there._ ”

“You’re not making any sense, Kyoko,” said Sayaka.  “Did your dad decide to spare you?”

The redhead made a noise halfway between a snort and a snarl.

“No way in hell,” she snapped.  “I was the _reason_ he did all that shit.  Told me so himself.  Right at the moment he jammed the knife square ‘tween my eyeballs.”

“Wait…you didn’t mention that before,” Sayaka interrupted her roommate again.  She felt like crap for doing so – for poking holes in what was clearly the source of all Kyoko’s deep-seated trauma – but her instincts wouldn’t allow her to leave things be.  “What’d he… _say,_ exactly?”

Kyoko gave her a hard glare, but nevertheless answered, “He called me a _witch._   An’ I ain’t coverin’ up his language or nothin’ – _that’s_ the word he used.  A witch that corrupted his precious flock.  Damned if I knew what _that_ meant.  Worst I ever remember doin’ was pissin’ behind the church when I was five.”

Involuntarily, Sayaka felt her own eyes twitch a few times.  There was something about that particular word that stirred up… _something_ inside her…

“Look…I dunno _how_ I survived.  I _remember_ the knife goin’ inta my face.  I _remember_ the fire, burnin’ everywhere as I blacked out,” the redhead went on.  “Obviously, I’m still kickin’.  But the rest’s as good yer guess as mine.”

“More memory loss,” said Sayaka, with a small gasp of realization.  “But this one’s like Mami-sempai’s.  Long-term.”

“Don’t go stickin’ me in the same boat as Miss Bleach-Blonde,” responded Kyoko, rolling her ruby eyes.  “Sure, details are a little fuzzy on the night my own dad tried ta _fuckin’ murder me._   Not really _that_ weird.  And not really the same as havin’ big chunks o’ the last three years completely missin’.”

Sayaka looked askance, her left arm gripping tightly onto her right forearm.  “Okay…you made your point.  I’m sorry for asking so much about this,” she muttered.  “But if your dad’s secretly been alive all this time, then clearly there’s a _lot_ about that incident we’re missing.”

“No argument there,” stated the other girl, slipping the Rocky back in her pocket and placing a hand on the double doors.  “So let’s quit lollygaggin’ an’ get some damn _answers._ ”

With that, the two girls strode cautiously out of the school.

 

[--------------------]

 

The two kidnappers had reached a lull in their “experiments,” and were currently taking a break to enjoy some calming tea.

Well… _she_ was, at least.  Her lover, bless her Soul Gem, needed cream and ten sugars just to swallow a cup, making it a lot closer in consistency to a milkshake than the chamomile she’d meant to prepare.

But the energetic girl knew her mistress cherished her daily tea, and so she put up with it with a broad smile.  That’s what it meant to be in love.

They’d been together for either a very short or a very long time, depending on how one wished to count things.  Either way, she really couldn’t imagine living without the other girl – to the degree existence as a Magical Girl could be called “living.”  On impulse, she told her so.

Her partner’s grin widened so much that it looked almost painful, clapping her hands together with audible force.

“Oh, mistress!  I’ve dreamed each and every night to hear you say that!” she exclaimed, tears practically in her eyes.  “To be useful to you is the greatest honor a girl could live for!  Not that I’d ever let any _other_ girl stand by your side, of course.  That honor is mine and mine and mine and _mine_ alone!”

Outwardly, she chuckled at this display, and patted the other girl indulgently on the head.  Inwardly, however, she was frowning.

She never quite knew what to make of her lover’s… _zealousness._   Most of the time, it was useful.  She lacked much combat utility herself, so without the other Magical Girl to fight her battles she’d have almost certainly been found out and eliminated long ago.  It was why she’d chosen to Awaken _her_ first, out of every other girl in Mitakihara City.

But outside of that context, the sheer intensity of the girl’s feelings was occasionally off-putting.  She was constantly putting herself down and building her partner up; placing her on a golden pedestal, like a goddess from heaven deigning to take a mere acolyte as consort.

Even the pet names they’d chosen for each other, to avoid using their real names as much as possible – for wasn’t that a staple of folklore, that for a Witch to know your True Name was to fall into her power? – reflected the inequality of their relationship.

She called her lover “dearest,” for that was what she was: the dearest, most cherished thing ever to come into her sad, lonely existence.

The other girl, in turn, called her _mistress._   With all the weight and meaning that implied.  She made no secret that her greatest desire was to place herself totally at her partner’s disposal – mind, body, _and_ Soul Gem.

It’d certainly made for some “interesting” moments during their nights together, occasional snippets of respite snatched between missions simply to stay _sane._   She’d rarely engaged in even self-pleasure while she was human, and she’d always imagined her first time would be somewhat… _gentler._   Slow-paced.  Romantic.

Certainly, she’d imagined far fewer riding crops, nipple clamps, and ball gags.

Truthfully, had she asked, she was certain the other girl would’ve agreed to whatever pace, positions, and attendant paraphernalia she requested.  But she _knew_ what lay at the core of her lover’s heart: a deep, abiding sense that she was utterly worthless.  That only by being filled with her mistress, both physically _and_ emotionally, could she ever feel whole again.

She knew because a very similar feeling was the bedrock of her _own_ self-image.  It was pathetic, really.  A textbook demonstration of the dangers of codependence.

But their mission was too important to ever get bogged down by clouds of self-doubt.  So in the meantime, if what her dearest needed sometimes was a stern, unforgiving mistress, holding her fast and tight to the iron rods of discipline…

Well, she was coming to realize there was a part of her _vigorously_ willing to oblige.

Perhaps she’d let some of what she was thinking about leak into her expression, because her lover suddenly looked incredibly excited – even more so than usual.

“Y’know, blondie’s gonna be knocked out till we go fish her Soul Gem outta that river,” she said, referring to their latest, sadly inconclusive experiment.  “We still got time if ya wanna… _well_ …”

Her wiggling eyebrows were as charmingly unsubtle as the rest of her typical demeanor.

As she lowered her now-empty cup, the first girl found the corner of her lip twitching slightly.  “I suppose we could work that into the schedule,” she whispered back, in a tone that sent a happy shiver up her lover’s spine.

Then, she took her dearest by the hand, and led her unresistingly toward their bedroom.

 

[--------------------]

 

Given everything that’d transpired, Madoka and Homura were excused from having to return to class for the rest of the day.  It was just as well; the pink-haired girl _very_ much doubted she would’ve been able to concentrate on algebra right now.

Hitomi had sent an email a few minutes ago, offering to bring them her notes after school.  It seemed she’d be busy on that front, since apparently Sayaka and Kyoko had _also_ failed to return to class after lunch.

“I understand Kyoko-chan, but it’s not like Sayaka-chan to just ditch school,” said Madoka, tapping at her chin thoughtfully.  “She can be a bit mischievous, sure, but she’s always been a stickler for the rules when it counts.”

“Believe me, I know,” Homura muttered under her breath, too low for the other girl to catch it.

“If we’re waiting on your friend to get out of class, then I suppose there’s no point in taking you two home yet,” declared Akane, who was walking a few steps in front of them.  “In that case…how about we grab a bite to eat?  Best way to recover after a heavy day like this, _trust_ me.”

She emphasized the point by patting at her belly, which Homura guessed was now a fair bit rounder than when she’d first become a policewoman.

“You know, in all the…uh… _excitement_ …” answered Madoka, shifting awkwardly.  “I didn’t even realize we’d skipped lunch.  Homura-chan, are you hungry?”

Homura made a noncommittal noise and shrug of her shoulder.  The truth was that she was _never_ really very hungry – and these days, even less than usual – but it seemed like such a petty thing to lie about.

She’d been sincere earlier that afternoon…or at least as sincere as she _ever_ was.  Every lie she told to Madoka tore her up just a little more inside, necessary as many of them were.

She wouldn’t add any more to the pile than she absolutely _had_ to.

Thankfully, both Madoka and Akane seemed to take her grunt as a “yes,” as the latter asked, “Ramen okay with you girls?  There’s a nice little shop near here I used to frequent with Tomo.”

“Whatever’s good with you, auntie,” said Madoka with a smile.

A few minutes later they were pulling up into a very small parking lot, with room for only five or six cars.  Akane Inoue didn’t hesitate, however, pulling them into a near-perfect parallel park in a single try.

“You’ve definitely got mama beat on _one_ thing, auntie,” remarked the pink-haired girl as they stepped out of the nondescript black car.  “Last time she had to fit in a space that small, she broke off one of our mirrors and invented twenty new swear words.”

Her aunt raised an eyebrow.  “Junko wouldn’t have happened to be intoxicated when this incident occurred?” she murmured.

Madoka pursed her lips.  “I love you auntie, I do…” she told the older woman, her eyes turned askance.  “But I feel like I shouldn’t answer that question in front of a cop.”

True to Akane’s word, the elderly woman running the noodle shop recognized her immediately, greeting the policewoman with a bow and a quick hug.

“Oh, you’ve grown up so much, Aka-chan!” she exclaimed with a smile.  “Are you still seeing that rocker girl with the strange hair?  You two were such a good match.”

In response, she held up her hand and flashed a simple but well-crafted ring.  “It’s not legally binding, of course, but the meaning is there,” said Akane.  “And hopefully someday we’ll have that ‘legal’ part squared away too.”

“I’m rooting for you,” replied the elderly woman, raising one wrinkled fist in support.  “And who are these little angels you have at your side?”

She gestured to the two teenaged girls, bending down to get a good look at their faces.

“Oh, this is my niece, Madoka Kaname.  You remember my brother Tomo?  She’s his daughter,” Akane explained, one hand on either girl’s shoulder.  “As well as her… _friend,_ Homura Akemi.”

She’d spoken the words warmly, returning the older woman’s kind tone, but Homura hadn’t missed the small pause there.  She wasn’t sure exactly what it _meant,_ but she felt her guard instinctively raise slightly.

“Ah, wonderful!  I remember Tomo-kun getting engaged to that girl who drinks like a sailor, but I didn’t realize they’d already raised such a pretty young thing.  My, how the years fly by,” said the noodle shop owner.  She offered another set of bows to the two middle-schoolers.  “Nice to meet you, Madoka-chan.  Homura-chan.  My name is Sachiko Tomoe, but you can call me whatever you like.”

Homura’s easily riled instincts abruptly changed targets, and she found herself sharing a quick glance with Madoka.  She could tell they were both thinking the same thing.

“N…Nice to meet you, ma’am…” stuttered the pink-haired girl.  “Uh…you wouldn’t happen to be related to _Mami_ Tomoe, would you?”

The mood in the room changed so quickly, it was like Madoka had flipped a switch.  The smile on Sachiko’s face instantly fell away, replaced by an expression that didn’t look like it’d _ever_ played host to joy.

“I’m not sure why you would bring something like that up to me right now,” she whispered, now sounding every bit as exhausted as her advanced age might suggest.  “Apologies, but it’s still hard for me to talk about my son’s family.”

Madoka shrunk back in the face of the woman’s sudden, inexplicable wave of sorrow, so Homura stepped in to take over.

“If it isn’t too much trouble, Tomoe-sama…could you explain exactly what you mean?” she asked carefully.

Sachiko didn’t answer immediately.  Instead, she took quick looks to her left and right; the noodle shop wasn’t very crowded, but the few other patrons that _were_ seated around them were all staring intently.

The woman looked hesitant for a moment, then gestured for the others to join her at a table toward the back.

“You knew my granddaughter’s name, so I assumed you’d read the story somewhere,” she said in a low voice.  “And would know that Mami-chan has been dead for three years.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Kyoko’s father hadn’t moved in all the time they’d taken to reach the ground floor.  It only made his presence feel even _more_ disturbing.

He didn’t speak, or even acknowledge their presence, until they approached nearly close enough to touch his robes.  Once they were at arm’s length, his gaze abruptly snapped away from the window they’d initially spotted him through, and he met his daughter’s eyes for the first time in over two years.

But easily the _most_ disturbing thing about those eyes was how quickly they filled up with love and light.

“Oh, my dearest Kyoko!  How I’ve missed you so,” he declared.  “And lo, she arose, and came to her father.  But while she was still far off, her father saw her, and was moved with compassion, and ran towards her, and fell on her neck, and kissed her.”

As he recited the verse, the priest opened his arms wide, in obvious expectation of a hug.  Kyoko did not accept the offer.

“Prodigal Son?  _Really,_ dad?” she said with a frown.  “S’not like I had a _choice_ in runnin’ away from ya.  Shit like that happens when ya lose it an’ _kill yer whole goddamn family._ ”

His brow furrowed slightly.  “I know you were always the joking type, sweetheart, but I don’t think you’re being very funny right now,” he responded.  “Why don’t we push past all this nonsense, so we can catch up.  Starting with introducing me to your… _companion?_ ”

“You stay away from her!” shouted Kyoko, stepping between the two of them and spreading her arms protectively.

But the priest ignored her protestations, peering around his daughter in order to greet the blue-haired girl.

“We are well-met, young miss,” he told her, offering a disarmingly gentle smile.  “I am Father Joji Sakura.  My apologies for my daughter’s rudeness.”

“It’s…no trouble…” muttered Sayaka, uncertain what else to say.  She looked to her roommate for guidance and found Kyoko shaking her head vigorously, as if no good could possibly come from engaging with this man.

But he seemed determined to force the issue, nevertheless.  “I must confess that I saw the two of you a little while ago.  Through the window,” said Joji.  “There is the requisite protectiveness I feel I must express as a father, of course.  Especially given your age.  But beyond that, to see something so…so…”

Sayaka involuntarily flinched.  She knew it was stupid, after everything she’d heard about this guy, to worry how he felt about _this._   But what little she knew about Christianity told her it wasn’t a religion famous for looking kindly on…well…

What _they’d_ just done.

Which is why it surprised her so much when his smile turned even more serene, almost dreamlike, and he finished, “So _wonderful_ …”

“Wait, _what?_ ” even Kyoko was unable to keep herself from asking.  “The fuck are ya on about?”

The priest didn’t even chastise his daughter for her coarse language; he was just too pleased.

“It warms my heart to see love expressed, whatever the form.  And I have no doubt the Lord would agree,” he explained matter-of-factly.  “Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my teachings so quickly, Kyoko.  Faith is a journey, not a destination.  If it fails to advance with the times, it becomes rigid and stale.  A few scribblings in Leviticus, writ by the hands of men to align with the society around them, pale in comparison to the reality of God’s love.  Which shines in every consenting kiss and gentle touch – man _or_ woman.”

If Sayaka hadn’t been forewarned that this man was a murderous nutjob, she’d have sworn he was actually pretty cool.

Still, she thought back to the story Kyoko had told her.  He’d been kicked out of his Church for preaching stuff that wasn’t in the Bible, right?  This must’ve been part of that.

“Look, dad.  Appreciate all the support, _really,_ ” said Kyoko dryly.  “But let’s stop beatin’ ‘round the fuckin’ bush, alright?  Why the hell’re ya here?  How the hell’re ya _still alive?_ ”

There was a single, silent beat in the wake of these words.  Then Joji let out a hearty chuckle.

“Such imagination.  It was always your greatest quality, Kyoko,” he declared.  “But those stuffed shirts couldn’t kill me by stripping me of my ordainment.  They only blessed myself and my congregation with even _greater_ strength.  A strength I will use to bring my teachings to the world.”

He glanced backward, toward the road, then continued, “And as for your first question…I just thought it might be nice if you joined us for a little family drive.  Your companion can come too, of course.  Your mother and Momo are waiting in the car.”

The moment the latter name passed from the priest’s lips, Kyoko lost any vestiges of self-control.  “Don’t you _dare!_ ” she bellowed, advancing on her father.  “Don’t ya dare say her _goddamn_ name, ya fuckin’ sonuva…!”

But those shouts faded away in an instant as, in a rage, the redhead took a sharp swing at her father’s jaw.

And connected only with empty air.

Sayaka blinked, and when her eyes opened again, Joji Sakura was gone.  Kyoko was just standing there with her fist extended, her body still twisted halfway through the motion of a punch.

“What…the _hell_ …” she panted out, slowly turning her head to look back at her roommate.  Her expression was desperate, _imploring,_ seeking validation that she wasn’t going crazy.  “I mean…he was… _you_ saw him too, didn’t…?”

“He was here,” said Sayaka, nodding in confirmation even as a chill ran up and down her entire body.  “Or at least…I _thought_ he was.”

But it occurred to her, in that moment, that “Joji Sakura” had never actually responded to anything she’d said.

 

[--------------------]

 

The four women sat around a shabby wooden table, sipping at piping hot bowls of ramen the cooks had provided free of charge.

“My son, Tetsu, was a simple man.  A good man, but one content to stay out of the spotlight.  He worked at the same bank for twenty-eight years,” Sachiko began her story.  “My daughter-in-law, Mikage, was different.  She was a politician, and a very talented one at that.  About sixteen years ago, she was elected to the National Diet to represent Mitakihara, with an overwhelming majority.”

“I remember her,” said Akane, as she swallowed a small piece of gyoza.  “Heck, I voted for her – _thrice._   But I never made the mental connection with the surnames.”

“The two had a daughter, Mami-chan, who was just the _sweetest_ thing,” the old woman went on, her voice faltering slightly when she spoke the name.  “Then, one day, when Mami-chan was just twelve, the whole family took a drive to a fundraiser.  And…”

The words fell away, as Sachiko released a long, shuddering breath.  Madoka instinctively placed a hand across her wrinkled arm, to which she offered a small smile – though it disappeared the moment she began speaking again.

“There was nothing remarkable about the accident, really.  If one of the passengers hadn’t been a public figure, it would’ve been just like a thousand others that happen every week,” she told them, without meeting any of their eyes.  “The news covered it briefly, since Mikage’s sudden death threw a wrench in the passage of an important bill.  But it fell off the headlines by the next day.”

“I’m so sorry, Tomoe-sama,” whispered Madoka, biting her lip.  She wasn’t sure the question in her head was appropriate to ask now, but the need to delve deeper, to _understand,_ was gnawing away at her.  “But, umm…were they _sure_ all three of them died?”

“Admittedly…the only bodies recovered from the road belonged to Tetsu and Mikage,” Sachiko replied, her tones still low and somber.  “For a little while, we held out hope.  But searches around the area turned up nothing.  Unfortunately, they’d crashed right by a sheer drop, overlooking a waterway.  The investigators ultimately concluded she’d been thrown from the point of impact, landed in the water, and washed away.”

She buried her aged face inside her palms, her breaths coming out in shuddering rasps.

“It was hard enough…cremating my own son.  The woman I loved like a daughter,” she said.  “But…for Mami-chan…even _that_ was…”

Madoka looked to her friend, feeling utterly helpless.  She _knew_ what she had to say – the information this grieving woman _needed_ to hear, come what may afterward – but she felt about as equipped to navigate _that_ conversation as she would fighting Godzilla.

Fortunately, as she always did, Homura came to her rescue.  “Please, ma’am.  I have no interest in adding to your grief, so I’ll just come out and say it,” she cut in, her voice staid and unwavering.  “Mami Tomoe is a schoolmate of ours.  She’s as alive as I am.”

Sachiko’s hands fell to the table with an audible _thump,_ and her entire body stiffened like a board.

“Wh…What…?” she gasped out, her voice barely louder than the dim hum of the air conditioner.

“She is a ninth grader at Mitakihara Middle School.  You can check the class registry if you wish to confirm,” Homura continued on.  “Both Madoka and myself are… _acquainted_ with her.  I wouldn’t say that we are ‘friends,’ exactly.  But we conversed with her just yesterday.”

“That…can’t be…” said Sachiko, still looking askance.  “Someone would’ve noticed…would’ve _told_ me…”

“I can’t claim to know all the details of her situation, ma’am.  But let me give you my best guess,” Homura spoke again, a bit more gently.  “Perhaps she _was_ thrown from the car, but managed to survive.  Perhaps, by the time she made it back to civilization, she realized that her parents were gone, and she’d missed her own funeral.  Perhaps, overcome by despair…she used that opportunity to leave her old life behind.”

The elderly woman blinked tears away as she listened to these words, barely seeming to comprehend them.

“I won’t try to explain or justify her choice.  Just offer it as a theory,” added the raven-haired girl, after a brief pause.  “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years…it’s just how little one person can truly understand the grief of another.”

The way she spoke that last part struck Madoka as a little odd.  It was just one of the many things Homura said which made her seem far, _far_ older than her fourteen years.

She’d come to accept that Homura was simply that sort of person – what her father called “an old soul.”  One who thought through things, who ruminated on the nature of the universe and humanity’s place in it, _far_ more than a typical teen.

Not that Madoka had a problem with it, of course.  Sure, being around Homura when she got all philosophical could be a bit… _intimidating._   There was no question her friend dwarfed her intellectually.

But there were times, like this one, where her natural pensiveness was greatly welcome.  Madoka wouldn’t have known what to say, to cut through this woman’s overwhelming sorrow.  Wouldn’t have been able to _really_ put herself in Sachiko Tomoe’s shoes.  Her life, frankly, was simply too idyllic.  She’d never known what it felt like to _truly_ suffer.

Homura _understood._   Madoka could see it in the depths of her indigo eyes.  To someone who didn’t know the brunette very well, they might seem entirely unchanged, but Madoka could see the barest shift in the way they looked upon the anguished woman.

For someone as stoic as Homura Akemi, that shift was the equivalent of a thousand fallen tears.

Thinking back on the story Homura had told her – losing her parents so young, growing up alone – she suddenly wondered whether the other girl had just been referring to Mami-sempai when she talked about “leaving her old life behind.”

“Can…” said Sachiko after some time, as she dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.  “Can I ask you something, child?”

“Of course,” Homura answered immediately, if shortly.

“You say you know her by the name ‘Mami Tomoe’?  With these characters?” asked the woman, taking a pen from her pocket and drawing the hiragana as best she could onto the tear-soaked napkin.

Both girls scrutinized the characters for a few moments, before nodding.  Madoka remembered seeing the name on the blonde’s student ID yesterday, when she’d helped carry her to the nurse’s office.

For a moment, Sachiko Tomoe neither said anything nor moved a muscle.  Then, slowly, she let out a deep breath of relief.

“Then I can hold onto a small sliver of hope,” she said, something like a smile appearing across her lips for the first time since they’d mentioned Mami’s name.  “Because if your theory is correct, dear…then Mami-chan had a perfect chance to erase her old identity, and chose not to.  She _chose_ to enroll under her real name – the name she shares with me, and the rest of her family.”

The old woman placed both hands in her lap, now looking remarkably at peace.  “How else can I interpret that…but as a cry for help?” she murmured.  “Perhaps she was too scared, too traumatized, to reach out on her own.  But she left the door open so that _we_ could find _her._   And I for one won’t let it slam shut again.”

Before they could get a word in edgewise, Sachiko was already telling them, calmly but firmly, “Please take me to her.  _Please._ ”

In retrospect, Madoka felt she really should’ve seen the request coming.  Yet she felt ill-equipped to even _begin_ answering it.  In theory, the reunion of this grief-stricken woman with her long-lost grandchild was the type of miracle that only happened in movies.  But maybe that was _why_ she felt a bit hesitant.

Neither she nor Homura had shared anything about Mami-sempai’s “delicate” condition.  About the memory losses, the blackouts.  About how just yesterday, the older girl had worked herself into such hysterics that she’d _collapsed._

Madoka was easily capable of imagining a scenario where this could go… _badly._   Particularly if it took place at or near school.

Thankfully, before Madoka could even _begin_ scraping together a proper response, Homura swooped to the rescue once more.

“I’m sorry…but I can’t advise that as your first step.  Remember that when it comes to her decisions and the reasoning behind them, we’re working purely from assumptions,” she said coolly.  “But if you’re willing to place your trust in Madoka and myself, then I have another suggestion.”

“You’d speak to her on my behalf?” guessed Sachiko, her voice coming out hoarse.  “Would you girls…really do that for me…?”

“We could go right now, as a matter of fact,” declared the brunette.  “I brought Mami Tomoe her homework once when she was sick.  I know where she lives.”

“Err…are you sure that’s such a good idea, Akemi-san?” Akane asked, frowning.  “Especially if your visit is unannounced.  Couldn’t you just meet up with her at school?”

“As I stated before, her reaction to this news depends on far too many unknowns,” responded Homura, without missing a beat.  “Out of deference to her privacy, I think it’s best we avoid risking a scene in public.”

“I suppose you’ve got a point there,” the policewoman was forced to admit.  “Well, I’m still not entirely certain about this plan of yours…but I can see there’s little chance of me stopping you.  So the least I can do is provide the ride.”

She laid down her chopsticks next to her nearly empty bowl, then pulled out her purse and began rummaging through it.

“I know you said this was on the house, Tomoe-sama, but please.  Let me give you _something,_ ” she said, already holding out a handful of bills.  But the older woman waved them away firmly.

“If these girls can accomplish what they’re promising…then you’re giving me something worth more than a _thousand_ free meals,” Sachiko rasped, her golden eyes directed at her folded fingers.

Seeing that there was no arguing with the elderly woman, Akane stood up and bowed again, even more deeply.  Both Madoka and Homura did the same, gratefully offering their thanks for the food – though Madoka couldn’t help but notice, as they walked away, that the raven-haired girl had barely touched her own bowl.

Still, there was another mystery that required her attention far more than her gorgeous friend’s lack of an appetite.  As they left Sachiko Tomoe behind and began making their way back to her aunt’s car, Madoka pulled Homura aside for a whispered question.

“Homura-chan, I just realized…” she muttered, glancing to make sure Akane was far enough away that she couldn’t overhear.  “Why would you have brought Mami-sempai her homework?  She’s a grade above us.”

The brunette pursed her lips, not meeting Madoka’s eyes.  But to her credit, this time, she didn’t evade the question.

“That was a lie, Madoka.  One I expected neither your aunt nor Tomoe-sama would know enough about our school to catch,” said Homura.  “In fact, a great deal of what I told her was a lie.  The truth wasn’t something I’m either willing or able to divulge to just anyone…even a grieving grandmother.”

“Then…what _is_ the truth?” Madoka couldn’t help but ask.  Even though there was something in Homura’s tone that didn’t entirely make her _want_ to know.

The other girl took another glance at their chaperone, who was futzing with something in the trunk.  Then, while barely moving her lips, she answered.

“Come with me to Mami Tomoe’s apartment, and I’ll show you.”

 

[--------------------]

 

A short distance away from Mitakihara Middle School, on the roof of a radio building that overlooked its entrance, a young girl looked upon the confused Sayaka and Kyoko with a smirk of smug satisfaction.

Without taking her eyes off the middle-schoolers, she draped herself over another girl, who wore no expression at all.

“You’re a lot more talented with that borrowed power than I expected,” the first girl cooed, giggling a bit.  “That was one hell of an illusion for your first time.”

“I’m cheating, a bit,” said the second girl, as she calmly and coldly absorbed her two-handed sword back into her body.  A violet butterfly briefly glowed on its hilt as it disappeared.  “The magic I gained from your sister lets me manipulate minds and memories.  The redheaded girl has an illusion power as well – far more potent than Kagari did.  Even if she doesn’t consciously realize it.”

“Ah, I gotcha.  So you’re, like…using her as a server, kinda?” asked the smaller girl, her lip curling as she leaned in closer against her partner’s neck.  She got a perverse pang of delight from feeling how the skin heated up at her touch.  “Oh, you’re _so_ clever!  I made the right choice in who to Awaken…my _darling._ ”

The second girl tugged absently at a lock of her silver hair, emotion finally creeping into her features – in the form of a light blush.

“You’re a lot more… _forward_ than I remember you being.  Though I suppose we didn’t have a lot of ‘normal’ time together,” she observed, looking away briefly.  “And of course, we can’t make up for that lost time now.  The mission’s too important.”

“That’s what I admire so much about you, Suzune-chan,” spoke the first girl, deftly dodging the original question.  “You’re so _dedicated._   But don’t you worry.  That magic in your sword is _exactly_ the weapon we need against our enemies.  After all…”

“After all, they _are_ still Magical Girls,” the girl called Suzune finished for her.  “Which means they’ll eventually become Witches.  Even if they can’t remember.  I _won’t_ let that be their fate.”

She pulled her partner close, then said, her voice uncharacteristically tender, “I won’t let that be _your_ fate, Matsuri.”

The smaller girl smiled brightly, accepting the affection for several seconds before pulling away, bouncing playfully upon the soles of her feet.  It felt so good to be loved.

Of course, her real name was no more “Matsuri” than it was “Nagisa.”

Oh, yes.  Suzune Amano was going to work out _splendidly_ as her new plaything.  Far more than that useless bimbo _ever_ could.

Her own magic could only control a single person at a time.  While posing as Nagisa Momoe, she’d actually needed to wear a white wig and dress in clothes made for someone _half_ her age, to make sure there was no discrepancy between the girl in real life and the one her “guardian” imagined in her head.  Sure, they _technically_ fit her petite frame, but if anyone felt like pointing that out she’d have to cut a bitch.

But now, she had a pawn who could manipulate other people’s perceptions of reality, even their _memories,_ with the snap of her fingers.  As an opponent, it would make her – and by extension Kagari Hinata, who was probably wandering somewhere around Akanegasaki that very moment, blissfully ignorant of her true power – a fright to behold.

As a servant, though?  It would make her nearly _unstoppable._

This was a brave new world, in the wake of what that bitch had done.  But slowly but surely, she was gathering the weapons to topple her from her throne.

And to install _herself_ in her place.

Soon enough, all of Japan…all of the _world_ …would acknowledge that she was the strongest of all.  Not a single human or Magical Girl or fucking bunny-cat would look down on her again.

She glanced toward the silver-haired girl standing across the rooftop.  Ready to strike against the next target her “dear friend” chose, like a loyal attack-dog.

Then, her eyes drifted to the suitcase she’d been wheeling around all day.  The one that contained the lifeless body of the _real_ Nagisa Momoe.  Insurance, as they say.

Yes… _weapons,_ indeed.  And she was _far_ from done collecting.

Just for a moment, she allowed herself a high-pitched, vicious cackle.  The kind that would _never_ leave the lips of Matsuri Hinata.  But that was alright – she’d already compelled Suzune into tweaking her _own_ memory, just slightly, so that any imperfections in her performance would be glossed over in a haze of romantic affection.

“Get ready, girlies…” she whispered, in a voice too low for the other Magical Girl to catch.  “To serve Sasa Yuki as your one and only queen.”


	10. Time and Time Again

“Thank you both for coming to talk with me today,” said the therapist, gesturing for both girls to sit down.  She was a very pretty woman, with bright blue eyes and hair a similar shade to Madoka’s, though she wore it considerably longer.  “You may call me Doctor Tenjou.”

As they were bid, Madoka and Homura each took seats on the office’s couch – albeit at opposite ends.  A small part of Madoka’s brain entertained the stray thought that their bodies could be a _little_ closer together, at which point it was promptly beaten into submission by the _much_ stronger part that was mortified by such things.

Yes, after having spent all of yesterday with those less-than-savory desires more or less under control, they’d come rearing back in full force on the car ride here.

She wasn’t sure what’d sparked things back up.  For a little while there, in the wake of all the incredibly serious stuff they were dealing with – from Homura’s “suicide attempt” to investigating the mystery of Mami-senpai – the butterflies in her stomach and heat in her skin had mercifully retreated.  It seemed her treacherous subconscious at least had _some_ standards.

Perhaps it was the look in Homura’s eye, since their visit to Mami-senpai’s apartment.  Usually so disinterested in the world around her, there was now…a _determination_ there, which hadn’t yet faded in the twentyish hours that’d since passed.  That look had been there before, but only in fleeting glimpses, like little peeks beneath her mask of apathy.

It made Madoka’s cheeks burn horribly to think about, but there was no denying how _hot_ she found that look.

Alternatively, it could have to do with how Homura was dressed.  They’d been given another day of leave from school to attend this first therapy session, and the raven-haired girl had clearly taken advantage of the opportunity to distance herself from her uniform.

The outfit was black, sleek.  It didn’t have all that many frills or accessories, but it also hardly needed them.  Really, with as much of her… _ahem_ …“assets” as the dress happened to emphasize, it seemed the sort of thing no fourteen-year-old girl had any business wearing.

Madoka’s day had been a near-endless loop of staring at her friend, realizing she was doing so, hurriedly averting her gaze to pretty much _anything_ else, and then, inevitably, finding her eyes drifting back to start the cycle all over again.

Finally, there was always the possibility that the goodbye kiss she’d witnessed between her aunts this morning was to blame.  _That_ amount of tongue-swapping was totally unbecoming of sworn officers of the law!  She’d committed every second of it to memory to enshrine just how scandalous it was!

Yeah… _that_ was the reason.

Without explaining why to either Homura or the doctor, Madoka found herself hanging her head.  She’d never been so prudish about _that_ sort of thing before.  Sure, she wasn’t exactly the most comfortable person in the world about sex, but still…

Ever since acknowledging these… _feelings,_ any hint of same-gender romance was all but guaranteed to set her heart pounding and her cheeks flaming.  On the drive here Auntie Shion had flipped on one of her favorite CDs, from a punk band called the Black Stones.

Three notes in, and _all_ Madoka could think about was her mom gossiping once about her suspicions regarding the lead singer and her “roommate.”

Maybe she was being paranoid, but it almost felt like the world was _conspiring_ to keep her as off-balance as possible.  What other explanation was there, when they’d already witnessed _three_ proposals on the way here today?  Two pairs of women, and one of men.

Seriously, what were the _odds_ of that?  Especially in a culture as sedate and conservative as Japan?

Madoka bit her trembling lip.  She felt awful for even _thinking_ such a thing.  For each of those couples, this must be among the happiest days of their lives.  She’d smiled and clapped politely along with the crowds, where appropriate.  She’d _wanted_ to be supportive, with all her heart.

But by the time the third woman took a bended knee, in the coffee shop where Auntie Shion had stopped off for her morning pick-me-up, it was _really_ hard not to feel as if the universe was telling her to take a hint.

“Kaname-san?  Did you hear what I said?” asked the doctor, cutting through her reverie.  Madoka briefly shook her head, shifting awkwardly as she slowly realized both of the other women were staring at her.  How many times had she missed the question?

“I understand there’s a lot for you to take in right now,” Doctor Tenjou added sympathetically, folding her hands and smiling gently at the pair.  “I’ll repeat myself: it’s important to keep in mind that healing is a process.  You won’t revolutionize the issues deep within your heart in a single session.  But if you’re willing to take that journey – and if you’re willing to help one another, each step of the way – then there’s no limit to what you girls can achieve.  In fact…”

But here, she had to pause, as the phone on her desk rang out.  The rose-haired woman looked a little cross at the interruption, but answered it after the first few rings.

“Honey…yes, of course it’s good to hear from you, but…no, sorry, I’m with clients right now.  I’ll have to take a rain check,” she said into the receiver.  “Yes, you can come to the office once the hour is up.  Now…yes, I have to hang up now, dear.  Love you too.”

She placed the phone back in its cradle, then turned back to the two girls with a look of apology.

“Sorry about that.  Just my wife trying to take me to lunch,” she explained.  “I’ve told her a hundred times not to call during sessions.  Now…shall we get started?”

…Seriously, what were the _odds?!_

 

[--------------------]

 

Sayaka sat in her chair in the middle of the classroom, twiddling a pen between her fingers and taking in very little of the teacher’s lecture on fiscal policy during the Meiji era.

She was, frankly, thinking far more about the empty desk behind her, one seat to her right.  As well as the remarkable coincidence of the chair two rows ahead and four to her right _also_ being unoccupied.

Neither Madoka nor that Akemi girl had been seen since homeroom yesterday, when the latter had complained of illness and been escorted by the former to the nurse’s office.  On its own, Sayaka might not have thought much of that fact.

But combined with Akemi’s squirrelly behavior during their meeting behind the gym?  Combined with how little she _already_ didn’t trust the aloof, mysterious girl?

And combined with – much as she tried to push them out of her brain as nothing more than silly gossip – the insinuations Kyoko had made about Akemi’s _real_ intentions for her best friend?

Add in the fact that the pair were still reeling from their apparent shared hallucination of Kyoko’s filicidal old man, and…well, Sayaka wasn’t sure exactly _what_ was going on at this school.

But she was pretty damn confident Homura Akemi was at the center of it.

She’d broached the subject to her roommate on the way to school today, but as usual Kyoko was a _lot_ more interested in the cafeteria’s lunch menu than on investigating any mysteries.  At least…to all outward appearances.

Sayaka glanced to the side, where the redhead was sitting a few rows away, not even _pretending_ to pay attention as she gamed on her laptop and snuck chips from a bag underneath her desk.  At first glance, she was wearing the same lazy, carefree expression that she always did.

And yet…maybe it was a function of living in the same bedroom as someone for over a month, but Sayaka could _see_ just how much of that crumb-crusted face was a mask.  Yesterday’s events had deeply freaked them _both_ out – and Sayaka was the only person in this room who’d watched the redhead toss and turn for _hours_ last night, drenched with sweat and mumbling pleas under her breath.

There was, a small voice reminded her, now _something_ she could do to comfort the poor girl.  But she forced that voice back down, deep.

They hadn’t done… _that_ again, since that first confused, awful, _wonderful_ time in the hallway.   Hadn’t even _discussed_ it.  No matter how much a not-insignificant part of her wanted to.

In the wake of what’d happened afterward, they simply hadn’t found the time.  Not that Kyoko was willing to discuss _that_ either, of course.  Hell, they’d barely shared three words upon returning home, before the redhead dismissed herself to catch up on anime.  They’d even eaten dinner separately, which they almost _never_ did.

It was enough to make Sayaka a little resentful.  Kyoko had kissed _her,_ after all.  And _she_ was the one at the center of… _whatever_ was going on here.  Her working theory was that Mitakihara Middle School was secretly built over an ancient burial ground.

And then, of course, that brief impulse of resentment only made Sayaka feel even _worse._   Because Kyoko was clearly wrestling, possibly literally, with the ghosts of her past; a past so horrific, the blue-haired girl couldn’t even _begin_ to imagine coping with it.

All she wanted, really and truly, was to make the pain her roommate was feeling go away.  But apart from getting to the bottom of how everything – the mass-memory loss, Father Sakura’s apparition, _everything_ to do with Homura Akemi – fit together, Sayaka was at a loss for how to do so.

Short of…well, yeah.  _That_ thing.

But if Kyoko was barely speaking to her, then she clearly wasn’t interested in either solution.  And Sayaka wasn’t going to force the issue if she wasn’t wanted.

The blue-haired girl placed a palm across her face and silently groaned.  How was it that kissing her friend only seemed to have driven them _further_ apart?

 

[--------------------]

 

“Now, since we’ve only got an hour for this session, Akemi-san, I hope you don’t mind if we jump straight to the core issue,” said Doctor Tenjou, holding up a clipboard and pen.  “But I should preface by assuring you that, at any time, you can refuse to answer my questions if they get too personal.  Or, if it’s a matter that you’d prefer to discuss in complete confidence…Kaname-san, I hope you won’t mind if you are occasionally asked to leave the room?”

Madoka was about to answer that, _of course_ she wouldn’t mind, but Homura spoke up first, “There is nothing you could ask that I don’t want Madoka to hear.  She’s the only reason I’m here at all.”

The therapist nodded knowingly.  “I can see why your school administration recommended you two see me together, at least for this first session,” she responded.  “You’re clearly very close.”

“Closer than I’ve ever been with anyone,” Homura declared firmly.  “Madoka is, and remains, my one and only friend.”

The pink-haired girl had two immediate reactions to this statement.  The first was an instinctual, visceral impulse to contradict the brunette; to assure her that, _of course,_ the girl in their grade with the best test scores, multiple broken records in athletics, and looks on par with an international supermodel must have _plenty_ of friends.  Right?

But then, on the other hand…when Madoka thought back to their interactions over the course of the past month, how many other people did Homura _really_ spend time with?

Sure, there were lots of boys and girls alike who complimented her on her hair, or lavished praise on her stellar grades.  But they never _stayed,_ did they?  Never ate lunch with the gorgeous girl, or went out to karaoke, or played video games.

Even when the whole “group” hung out, Homura tended not to interact with anyone but Madoka.  Her relationships were neutral at best with Kyoko, Hitomi, and Kyosuke, and she and Sayaka made no secret of how little they particularly cared for one another.

No one else ever got to see Homura Akemi smile, or laugh, or make a total mess trying to scarf down a double-decker cheeseburger.  _Just_ her.

Which, incidentally, brought things around to her _second_ reaction to Homura’s words.  And of this, Madoka was more embarrassed than of anything else.

But she couldn’t deny the small, but _very_ vocal part of her mind, that heard the words “one and only friend” and took them as a stab to the gut.

She _knew_ it was illogical.  Stupid.  Unbelievably selfish.  If her suspicions were correct, and Homura really _was_ as isolated as her words implied, then to be her friend was clearly a special and wondrous thing.  And a friend was clearly what the poor, lonesome girl _needed_ right now.

Yet the part of her that yearned to be so, _so_ much more simply wouldn’t shut the heck _up._

This was, Madoka felt ashamed to admit, how a great deal of the session would turn out to unfold.  She _wanted_ to pay attention to what the therapist was saying, to offer input and support whenever Homura was uncomfortable with a question, but she was so stuck in her own head that she kept tuning out.

Every once in a while, though, either doctor or patient would say something that jostled her back to Earth.  The next time this happened, it was a quiet admission from Homura.

“No…this was not the first time I’ve experienced suicidal ideation,” said the raven-haired girl, her eyes turned away.  “But it’s always been brief, and fleeting.  I have something in this world far more important to live for.”

“And…” Doctor Tenjou prodded carefully.  “I suppose you would prefer…”

“I would prefer not to discuss that further,” Homura confirmed with a nod, cutting the psychiatrist off.  “Please just know that I have an ironclad reason for continuing on.  So long as it holds firm, I am no danger to myself.”

Homura still didn’t turn her head all the way, but Madoka was sure she didn’t imagine it twitch in her direction, just for a moment.

She understood the implication immediately.  Obviously Homura was talking about her mission – the secret life and secret powers she’d chosen to share with her yesterday.  Madoka still could scarcely believe the other girl had confided in _her_ something so important, but in a strange way it made her feel… _special._

She remembered the words they’d exchanged the previous day, in the empty apartment of Mami Tomoe.

 

[--------------------]

 

_“I was afraid of this,” said Homura.  She was cupping her face with her left hand, while the other moved slowly through the air, almost as if she was “scanning” the room._

_“Wh…What is it, Homura-chan?” Madoka asked timidly.  “Afraid” wasn’t a word she heard very often out of her confident friend, even figuratively, and combined with the total silence in the apartment it had the pink-haired girl exceedingly nervous.  “Do you, uh…_ sense _…something?”_

 _She’d only learned the brunette had_ literal magic powers _a few hours ago, and she still wasn’t quite sure how to talk about them._

_Fortunately, Homura seemed to have no trouble determining her meaning, as she replied, “Magic has been used here very recently.  The traces are all over, but I don’t think it was Mami Tomoe that did it.  Which means…it’s likely she’s been taken.”_

_It took Madoka several moments to put two and two together.  Then, she gasped aloud._

_“You…You mean…” she murmured.  “Mami-senpai is…?”_

_“She has similar powers to mine, yes,” Homura cut her off, nodding once.  “But recent events have led me to conclude that, for one reason or another…she’s lost all memory of her magic.  Which makes her an easy target for enemies.”_

_“So all those gaps in her memory…” the pink-haired girl continued to puzzle through things out-loud.  “Going back three years!  To the accident her grandma talked about!”_

_“Very likely, that was the day she gained her abilities,” said Homura.  “If_ all _her memories involving such matters have been altered, it would explain her intense psychological damage.”_

_Madoka frowned as she realized something else.  “Wait…hold on…” she spoke softly.  “When you say ‘enemies’…”_

_The other girl didn’t answer for several moments.  When she did, her tones were slow and deliberate, as if careful not to reveal too much._

_“Not all of us who are…_ like me _…are friends, Madoka,” she attempted to explain.  “Power has a way of driving people apart, far more easily than it brings them together.  That was one of the first lessons I learned after gaining it.”_

 _“Oh…I see…” mumbled Madoka, unable to keep from feeling a little deflated.  In these sorts of stories, she’d always preferred when heroes teamed up against a common foe.  Now that she was more or less_ living _one, it was disheartening to think of people like Homura or Mami-senpai having to fight each_ other.

 _“And it’s especially concerning because Mami Tomoe was, last I was aware, taking custody of_ another _girl with magical potential,” Homura went on, apparently oblivious to her gloom.  “Nagisa Momoe, age eight.  She is also an individual of…_ concern. _”_

_“Girl with magic…” Madoka repeated quietly.  “You mean, like…a Magical Girl?  Like Sailor Moon or Cardcaptor Sakura?”_

_There was no mistaking the way Homura instinctually bristled at the allusions.  Madoka drooped a little further.  Given how much the raven-haired girl professed to love manga, she’d thought to frame things with the only examples she knew offhand, but she supposed those must not be among Homura’s favorites.  Too “mainstream,” maybe?_

_Still, eventually, the other girl said, “That is…_ one _way to describe what we are, I suppose.  We wield magic, and we are all female.  But I’ve never cared for the term.  It sanitizes what we do.  What we_ are. _”_

_“Wh…Which is?” asked Madoka._

_“Soldiers,” Homura answered immediately, her tones grave and solemn.  “Soldiers who battle one another for the pettiest of reasons.  In a conflict with no point, and no end.”_

_“Then…” Madoka breathed out, biting her lip.  “How can you stand to keep going on?”_

_Homura turned away from her, facing the wall, her head hung low.  When she spoke again, it was with an air of finality, making it clear – even if it wasn’t explicitly said – that these would be her final words on the subject._

_“Because I have something worth fighting for.”_

[--------------------]

 

Homura was being remarkably candid with the rose-haired therapist, at least by her standards.  But Doctor Tenjou would never, _could_ never, know the full story.

Madoka, alone among the people in her life, understood.

That fighting alone, in a secret world full of magical horrors, had taken a long and heavy toll upon Homura Akemi’s psyche.

Which left Madoka with only one choice.  She wasn’t sure how difficult it would be, or what price it would cost.  But she was prepared to sacrifice whatever was necessary to find out.

If the girl she… _cared for,_ was suffering in loneliness as she fought through the darkness…

Then Madoka would do whatever it took to join her.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Okay, okay, you can drop the scandalized face,” said Sayaka, more than a bit irritably.  “I need advice, alright?  Not judgment.”

Hitomi Shizuki, for her part, was _trying_ to be supportive of her dear friend.  But every time she opened her mouth to offer words to that effect, all that came out was a high-pitched, keening sound.

The pair was sitting in a secluded part of campus as they ate their lunch, Sayaka explaining what’d happened yesterday – minus the maybe-maybe-not ghost story – between quick bites.  Honestly, she would’ve preferred discussing this with Madoka, but…

Well, this seemed like the kind of conversation that _had_ to take place in person.

“I, umm…I…you see…that…that is…I…” was the word-salad that eventually tumbled from the green-haired girl’s lips.  “I…I mean… _Sakura-san,_ of all g…girls…?”

“For the thousandth time, _yes,_ ” responded Sayaka.  “We kissed in the hallway yesterday.  Well…okay, _she_ kissed _me._   But I didn’t exactly fight her off.  Maybe I probably should’ve, but…deep-down, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what I wanted.  What I think I’ve _been_ wanting for weeks now.”

Hitomi opened her mouth again, but the keening sound just came out even worse.

“Look, I know you’ve got some sorta complex about this for…damn if I know _what_ reason.  I heard what you said when Azuma and Ichinose in 1-A came out,” said Sayaka, filling in the lull.  “But this is _me,_ Hitomi.  We’ve been friends since we were waist-high.  Can’t you put all that aside and just _be there_ for me?”

“I d…don’t have a c…complex…” stuttered Hitomi, completely and utterly _not_ helping her case.

Sayaka rolled her eyes.  “Oh yeah, _sure_ you don’t,” she remarked impatiently.  “Look, I try not to take your whole ‘girls can’t love girls’ thing too personally.  But right now it’s _really_ hard not to.  Because even if this is the first time I’ve _done_ anything about it…”

She took a deep breath, before finishing, “I…I do.  Like girls, I mean.  _And_ guys.  I’ve known that for a while now.”

Hitomi’s lip was quivering.  “I…I don’t _mean_ anything by it…” she mumbled, averting her eyes.  “It’s just…how I was raised.  Father’s old-fashioned, you know?  And…And mother…”

“Wait…so this ‘forbidden love’ crap is from them?” demanded Sayaka, her brow furrowed.  She’d _met_ Tohru and Yuko Shizuki, plenty of times over.  Sure, they were definitely a “traditional” sort of couple.  Probably closer to the conservative end of the political spectrum.  They still had their daughter doing _tea ceremony_ lessons, for crying out loud.

But to _her,_ they’d always been nothing but genial and welcoming, if perhaps a little patronizing on occasion.  That was inevitable, when they had more money squared away in investments than _her_ parents made in a year.

It pricked at her, in a distinctly uncomfortable way, that they might wind up treating her differently if they happened to learn of her… _preferences._

“It’s not like they were going around, telling me t…to _hate_ anyone…” said Hitomi, the very word sounding foreign on her excessively formal tongue.  “But they’ve always been very strict about things like…like gender roles.  In relationships, men have their place, and women have another.  That’s…a cornerstone of Japanese society…”

If it were anyone else saying these things, Sayaka might’ve been tempted to punch them across the jaw.  But she _knew_ Hitomi, inside and out, and she could tell she was only parroting back words she’d heard elsewhere.  There was no real conviction in her tone, and her body language was tense and evasive.

In fact…

“How’d it even come up?” she asked, watching her friend’s posture for a reaction.  When Hitomi very nearly had a spasm, she let out a low gasp of realization.  “You didn’t…”

Hitomi pulled her legs toward her chest, suddenly looking very small.  She stared blankly forward for several moments, thinking.  Then, slowly, she nodded her head.

“You…can’t tell anyone about this.  Not even Madoka-chan, and _definitely_ not Kyosuke,” she whispered to her friend.  “Do I have your word, Sayaka-chan?”

“Of course,” Sayaka quickly replied.

The green-haired girl took a deep, steadying breath.  Then she told Sayaka, “Do you remember a couple days ago?  When those two figure skaters were k…kissing?  Sakura-san brought up that the CEO of Future Industries announced her engagement to her g…g…girlfriend?”

“Yeah…I remember…” said Sayaka, unsure where she was going with this.  She chose not to call out her out for stammering over the gayest words; baby steps, after all.

“Well…the CEO in question?  She was…” Hitomi mumbled, her hands shaking so much they seemed likely to fall off her arms at any time.  “M… _My_ first kiss.”

Sayaka’s mouth went wide, like an “O.”  She leaned in closer, her tone inching toward conspiratorial.  “Get outta _town,_ ” she breathed out.

“We met at a party.  This was two years ago,” the rich girl explained.  “It was a gathering of heirs and heiresses from all across the world, held in Paris.  The Cavendishes, the Edelfelts, the Schnees.  _She_ was there representing the Satos – probably the only other Japanese there.  Well…except for those boys from Ouran, of course.  But I shouldn’t have to explain why I stayed clear of _them._ ”

Honestly, she probably _did,_ but Sayaka really wasn’t interested in prying.

“I had just turned twelve, so I think my parents brought me – at least in part – to see if they could match me with any marriageable prospects.  If so, that backfired tremendously,” Hitomi continued on.  “She must’ve been…seventeen at the time.  But she looked even older.  She drew my eyes like nothing I’d ever seen before.”

Sayaka remembered her own first “girl-crush” well, and could recognize the signs.  Though admittedly, since _hers_ had been on an anime character, it wasn’t entirely the same thing.

“Because of the age difference, there was never any chance she’d reciprocate.  I must have seemed an annoying little kid, tagging along with her for no explicable reason,” said the green-haired girl, sighing despite herself with something that might’ve been wistfulness.  “But she was kind, and she _let_ me tag along.  Throughout the entire party she doted on me, sharing jokes and passing me sweets when no one was looking.”

“And then, when the party was over…” murmured Sayaka, catching on to where this was going.

“I…I did it,” Hitomi admitted, after a brief pause.  “I don’t know _what_ I was thinking.  But this beautiful girl had been so nice to me, and made me feel so special.  So before I knew it, I was standing on my tip-toes, and I leaned in, and…and…”

She was too embarrassed to finish the sentence, but she hardly needed to.

“Afterward, she sat me down, and told me – with that smile that melted my _heart_ – that she was simply too old for me.  But that she was immensely flattered by my… _affections,_ ” spoke Hitomi, her voice now coming out somewhat hollow and distant.  “She assured me that somewhere in the world, a girl or boy was out there who perfectly matched my soul.  And though it saddened me to hear those words, if that was all that transpired…that might have been the end of it.”

“Let me guess…” said Sayaka, wearing a sympathetic frown.  “Your dad…no.  Your _mom_ saw the whole thing.”

“Just about,” Hitomi answered hollowly.  “She lectured me for _hours_ that night.  About how this was no way for the only daughter of the Shizuki line to behave.  That one day I would be obligated to marry a man of good breeding, and that she couldn’t risk me… _despoiling_ myself.  With desires that were deviant and unclean.”

Without meaning to, Sayaka felt her hand form a fist.

“So when I see two men, or two women, being amorous with one another… _that’s_ the night I think of.  I can’t help it,” stated the rich girl.  Emotion had returned to her eyes – which were now profoundly wet.  “I…I’m _so_ sorry, Sayaka-chan.  I don’t want to seem like I’m judging you.  I just… _can’t_ push it out of my mind.”

“ _Shhh_ …it’s okay, Hitomi.  Seriously, it’s _okay,_ ” Sayaka attempted to soothe her friend.  She pulled her into a quick, but warm hug.

“B…But…” whimpered Hitomi, leaning into the embrace.  “Wh…What would _Kyosuke_ think?  If he learned that I had…that I _was_ …”

“Kyosuke’s no homophobe.  You heard literally _just_ yesterday how he thought I was gay most of our lives, right?” said Sayaka.  That one _still_ smarted, if she was being honest with herself…but she was trying to be a supportive friend right now.  “Point is, he was all for it.  So you don’t have _anything_ to worry about on his end.”

Hitomi slowly pulled away and looked up at her, dabbing at her tears with a dainty little handkerchief.  God, how was it she managed to look so perfect even when she was _crying?_

“Are…Are you sure…?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“Look, Hitomi…if your parents are gonna stick their heads in the sand about this, then _I’ll_ be the one to set you straight.  Uh…you know what I mean,” responded Sayaka, scratching her head.  “Anyway, you’re bisexual.  Or at least curious.  And there’re exactly _zero_ things wrong with that.  It doesn’t make you a ‘deviant,’ or a perv, or anything.  And it doesn’t make what you have with Kyosuke any less special.”

If someone had told her a few months ago that she’d be sitting here with one of her best friends, reassuring her that her repressed homosexual urges shouldn’t get in the way of her relationship with the boy Sayaka _herself_ had been crushing on for practically half their lives…

Well, she’d have been highly skeptical.

She also would’ve had difficulty imagining what came next.  Which was that Hitomi’s tears abruptly stopped, and the rich girl slapped herself lightly on both cheeks, as if psyching herself up.

“You’re right, Sayaka-chan.  You’re _absolutely_ right,” she said, grabbing Sayaka by the hand and hauling them both up with surprising strength.  She had to remind herself that one of the green-haired girl’s many, _many_ after-school lessons happened to be in judo.

“Uh…where are we going…?” muttered Sayaka, barely managing to avoid tripping over her own feet as she was pulled along.

“To make you as happy as I am right now.  Because by gosh, you _deserve_ it,” declared Hitomi, without a hint of irony.  “And if that’s in the arms of Sakura-san…then so be it!”

One slender, perfectly manicured fist pumped in the air.  “I’ve finally seen the light!” she shouted out to anyone who would listen, her air of demureness and decorum utterly forgotten.  “Girls _can_ love girls!  _Girls can love girls!_ ”

 

[--------------------]

 

“Now, Akemi-san, I know you wanted to remain with Kaname-san for as long as possible,” said Doctor Tenjou.  “But we’re winding down to the end of our session, and I’d really like just a couple minutes alone with each of you.  And I think I’d actually like to start with you, Kaname-san.”

“Very well,” Homura replied, before Madoka could say anything.  “Should I remain in the hall?”

“Yes, please.  This shouldn’t take very long,” Doctor Tenjou told her.

And so, before she knew it, Madoka was alone in the room with the therapist.  The rose-haired woman smiled gently.

“As close as the two of you are…I can tell there are secrets you’re keeping from one another.  Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with that,” she explained to her patient.  “Which is why I wanted to give you both an opportunity to speak candidly about one another.  Even in the deepest of friendships, there can be friction.  Unacknowledged issues lurking beneath the surface.”

She held up a preemptive hand.  “But of course, that’s only if you _choose_ to,” the doctor added quickly.  “There will be no consequences if you share these things with me…and no consequences if you decide _not_ to.  This is a safe space, Kaname-san.”

Madoka, for her part, looked upon the psychiatrist appraisingly.  Her sincerity and dedication to her profession were obvious; there were no ulterior motives here.

Frankly, her mind was so fit to bursting right now, that even a few minutes of one-on-one therapy was starting to sound _really_ appealing.  Obviously, she couldn’t share anything about magic, or the stresses Homura’s mission was placing her under every single day.

But…there was _one_ thing she could possibly vent about to the older woman.  One thing that’d been consuming her every waking thought for a few days now, like a ravenous virus.

The only question was whether she dared speak those dreaded words aloud.  Telling her papa had been one thing; _this_ was essentially a stranger.

But maybe that was what made the idea so difficult to resist.

“You…You promise?” she said timidly.  “Anything I tell you now…you won’t repeat to Homura-chan?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality is the single most important principle in my profession.  Even when it involves keeping one patient’s confidence from the other,” answered Doctor Tenjou.  “Your secrets are safe with me.”

“I…I’m only really keeping one from her,” Madoka found herself continuing on, her control over her mouth rapidly slipping.  “But it’s a big one.  And if she finds out…it could destroy our friendship forever.”

“I think it’s possible you may be underestimating Akemi-san’s loyalty to you,” the therapist pointed out.  “But go on.”

“Well, it’s…I mean…that’s…” stammered Madoka, trying and for the most part failing to force herself to confront the issue directly.

Eventually, screwing up every tiny scrap of courage left in her petite body, she managed to squeeze out a single complete sentence: “The thing is, I think I… _like_ her.  Really, _really_ like her.”

“Ah.  I see,” said Doctor Tenjou, folding her hands and leaning back in her chair.  She didn’t seem very surprised.  “I see this issue more and more with my younger patients these days.  Friends who’ve known each other for years, until puberty sets in and one finds their feelings… _changing._   Then they’re wracked with indecision and guilt, unsure whether the other does or even _can_ reciprocate their affections.  Kaname-san, this is a normal – if, admittedly, less than fun – part of adolescence.”

That very much _did_ sound like Madoka’s current predicament…apart from one crucial detail.

“Umm…Homura-chan and I have only known each other for about a month,” she informed the doctor.  “Maybe that’s part of it.  All the friends I had as a kid, before the move…Sayaka-chan, Hitomi-chan.  I’m not sure I could even _think_ about them, y’know… _that_ way…”

“But Akemi-san is the first true friend you’ve made since experiencing your sexual awakening.  It’s natural for your mind to see her differently,” Doctor Tenjou surmised shrewdly.  Madoka’s face flushed crimson at the last part, though she didn’t deny it.  “Obviously, there are ways this can be more… _complicated,_ than if the relationship was purely heterosexual.  Especially in a country like Japan.  But there is _nothing_ wrong with what you’re feeling now.”

“Did…Did that make it more difficult for you?” asked the teenager, fumbling with her fingers.  “You, uh…said you had a wife, right?”

The therapist looked surprised at the question.  “I am…generally not in the habit of discussing my personal life with my patients.  It’s a matter of ethics and professional distance,” she responded.  “But to keep things _very_ general…yes, there were some issues.  Our marriage isn’t legally recognized in this country, or her own.  But wherever we go, we know what we mean to one another.  What _these_ mean.”

She stroked a ring on her left hand fondly.  It bore a pattern of a pink rose, and glinted in the light.

“Your wife must be a very kind woman,” said Madoka.  “I can hear it in your voice.”

A small smile appeared on the older woman’s lips.  “I won’t deny that,” she whispered back, still staring at the ring.  “Whatever difficulties we may have faced along the way…they were worth it, to find true love.  _That_ is the advice I choose to give you, Kaname-san.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Meanwhile, out in the hallway, Homura Akemi was pacing back and forth impatiently.

With her powers, it would’ve been child’s play to listen in on Madoka’s “private” session, but she’d made a deliberate decision to forgo such temptations.  She was _trying_ to do better, this time.  For _her_ sake.

Perhaps it was a futile goal, after all the sins she’d committed already.  There was scarcely a single way she _hadn’t_ violated Madoka’s privacy or autonomy, at one time or another.

But against all odds, this incarnation of Madoka Kaname – the very last whose voice she would ever hear, and whose hand she would ever hold – still trusted her.  Trusted her with her hopes, and her dreams, and her secrets.  Trusted her to be there in the end, when all else lay in failure.

That was the tiresome, awful, _wonderful_ thing about Madoka.  Even when all logic dictated otherwise, she was utterly incapable of giving up on _anyone._

Across dozens of time flows, she’d done unspeakable things before those shimmering, rose-colored eyes.  Allowed innocents to die.  Left streets in ruins, in the course of wiping out Witches.  Even murdered Madoka’s very best friends, with her own two hands.

Yet not _once_ had Madoka given up on her.  Time and time again she’d reached out, convinced that Homura’s soul was truly good, and her cause noble…even if she couldn’t quite comprehend what that cause _was._

Homura almost had to chuckle, albeit humorlessly.  There was nothing noble in the course she’d set for herself now.  Perhaps there’d _never_ been.

But wasn’t it just like the most selfless person to ever grace the soil of the Earth…to see the best in the very most selfish?

“I’ve seen the look that rests within your eyes.  Like all the weight of the world lies upon your shoulders,” came a soft voice.

The raven-haired girl started.  She hadn’t realized she was no longer alone – and for her to miss another person’s approach, with _her_ senses, they must’ve been very quiet indeed.

She was a quiet, demure-looking woman, seated calmly on one of the plastic chairs lining the hall.  Her hair was a bluish shade of purple, and her skin a deep tan; of Indian origin, Homura guessed, based on the _bindi_ in the center of her forehead.  She was wearing a formal, salmon-colored suit, and Homura could see the slight glint of contacts in her sea-green eyes.

“I’m…sorry?” said Homura, cursing herself for sounding so off-put.

“Forgive me for being so forward.  But something in those eyes of yours reminds me of myself, all those years ago,” continued the mysterious woman.  “My apologies.  I’m only here to wait for my wife.  She is a doctor here.”

It didn’t take long for Homura to connect the dots.  “Doctor Tenjou?  Her session should be concluded shortly,” she told her.  “I was just seeing her with…with a friend of mine.  But she wanted a few minutes alone with each of us before concluding business.”

The purple-haired woman didn’t speak for some time.  She just stared at Homura’s face, unblinkingly, for long enough to make even _her_ feel uncomfortable.

Then in cool, crisp tones, she declared, “She isn’t just a ‘friend’ to you.”

It was a statement, not a question, and for the first time in a long time Homura was speechless.

“I can see things.  Things other people miss.  I’ve always been able to,” said the woman.  “Some call it ‘magic.’  Some are less superstitious about it.  Either way, I do not believe I’m mistaken about this.”

The single word “magic” immediately riled up Homura’s hackles, though she tried not to let it show.

“Is there a reason you feel so confident in this assertion?” she asked, keeping her voice as even as she could.

The woman’s lip curled, in something like bemusement.

“I told you already.  It’s because I can see myself in your eyes,” she answered.  “There is a darkness there.  Something timeless and eternal.  And because of that darkness, you’ve resolved yourself to believe that you don’t _deserve_ love.  That you don’t _deserve_ happiness.  Someone or something had you under its thumb for some time, but now that you’re free you feel even _more_ trapped.  Except that the only one forging your chains now…is _you._ ”

“You…don’t know anything about what you’re talking about,” muttered Homura, though it came out far weaker than she’d been intending.  “You don’t know _me._ ”

“On the contrary, Homura Akemi.  I know what rests at the end of the world,” said the purple-haired woman.  “And thus, I know your heart.  A heart drawn in a thousand different directions, all at once.  Girl and Woman.  Hero and Villain.  Savior and Witch.”

Instinctively, Homura drew for her power, taking a stance that would allow her to fight at a moment’s notice.  “I never told you my name,” she hissed.  “Who are you?  _What_ are you?”

“You know exactly what I am.  What we _all_ are,” spoke the woman, her voice still just so _infuriatingly_ calm.  “You just don’t want to admit that you’re slipping.  But the consequences if you continue on this path will be… _dire._   Trust me.  The fountain of experience I speak from is overwhelming – and the waters themselves, tainted and wretched.”

“This…doesn’t make any sense,” Homura whispered, mostly to herself.  “You’re not even _real,_ are you?  You can’t be.”

“I suppose that depends on your definition,” stated the woman, hands folded calmly across her lap.  A pink ring was displayed prominently upon one of the fingers.  “In a sense, _none_ of us are real, Homura Akemi.  Not even you.”

Before Homura could react, the nearest door suddenly swung open.  Two rose-haired women exited: Doctor Tenjou with her usual cool, professional smile, and Madoka with…

With an expression Homura couldn’t even _begin_ to read.

“Thank you so much for waiting, Akemi-san.  If you would join me in here for a few minutes, I’d like to have a word with you as well,” said the psychiatrist, before noticing the other person waiting in the hallway.  “Oh, Anthy dear.  You’re early.  As long as you’re here, would you mind keeping Kaname-san company while we finish up?”

Alarm bells started clanging in Homura’s head.  Leave Madoka alone, even for a few minutes, with a woman like _this?_

Without offering any warning or explanation, Homura clutched tight onto the hand of the girl she loved.

And ran.

 

[--------------------]

 

“We need to move.”

The words came out of the blue, the first her mistress had spoken in almost three hours.  She was well-used to giving her a wide berth at times like these; to access her oracular powers required absolute quiet and concentration, and a store of mana that, absent any way to generate Grief Seeds, they were running very short on.

Since “absolute quiet” were not words anyone would tend to use to describe her, she usually occupied herself during these times by reading manga or playing on a stolen 3DS.  With earphones, of course.

The _last_ thing she needed was her mistress scolding her, should her focus be broken because the system shouted _“Igiari!”_ at an inopportune time.

“What kinda vision did ya get this time?” she asked her lover.  “Sounds serious.”

“Very much so,” said her silver-haired mistress, as she released her Magical Girl transformation the second it was no longer needed.  They couldn’t afford to waste a single _drop_ of magic right now.  “Sasa Yuki has already enthralled a new pawn, and she’s incredibly powerful.  If we do nothing, she’ll locate our base by sunset tomorrow.  She’ll kill me…and enslave you.  You _and_ Mami Tomoe.”

The brunette growled like a vicious dog at the very _idea_ her mistress might be harmed.  But a moment later, she remembered something that poked through her haze of rage.

“Wait…I thought ya said that bitch can only control one Magical Girl at once,” she replied.

“Unfortunately, her latest thrall has the potent ability to rewrite people’s memories and perception of events,” explained the other girl.  “Which means she’s achieved the proverbial ‘wishing for more wishes.’  With such power at her command, she could implant any memory she desires into her target.  Such as them swearing utter fealty to her, as…as an obedient slave.”

She placed her soft, dainty hands across both of her lover’s shoulders, causing her to blush.

“I won’t let them do that to you, darling.  I _won’t,_ ” she added quickly.  “I’m too dangerous for Yuki to keep alive; my powers are the perfect counter for her new thrall.  So the only way we all get out of here, with our minds _and_ souls intact, is if we flee _now._ ”

“Gotcha,” said the brunette, adapting fully to the sense of urgency.  “I’ll grab Tomoe’s body then, if ya can get her Soul Gem.  Where’d we leave it after that las’ experiment, again?”

The silver-haired girl raised an eyebrow, but before she could respond, her lover smacked herself across the head.  “That’s right…I shoved that sucker down inta the sewer!  Never mind, then.  I can’t have ya gettin’ yer hands dirty like that, mistress.”

For that, she received a small chuckle, a light and melodious sound.  “Well my darling, if you _insist,_ ” she remarked, a smile still tugging at the corner of her lip.  “I have a suggestion.  Why don’t you bind the girl’s wrists, and then bring her Soul Gem back in range?  She hasn’t eaten in two days.  She won’t be strong enough to flee from you.”

“Uh…if ya think that’s the bes’ way…” murmured the brunette, unsure where her mistress was going with this.  Still, she’d never steered her wrong before.

“Perfect!” exclaimed the other girl, clapping her hands together.  “Then take her along with you – drag her if you need to – to _this_ address.  I’ll be waiting for you, darling.”

She handed a small note to her lover.  The characters on it were drawn a little rougher than her usual, elegant scrawl, but she supposed they _were_ in quite a hurry.

“I won’t let ya down, mistress!” she said, bowing her head in reverence.  “Anythin’ else I should keep in mind?”

“We’ll discuss things further once we’re back under safer shelter,” answered the silver-haired girl.  “But I assure you, there will be _much_ to discuss.”

“Like what?” asked the brunette, as she held out her own Soul Gem and transformed with a flash of magic.  The added speed of her Magical Girl form would make the mana expenditure worth it.  “I mean, ya don’t have ta tell me if ya don’t wanna…”

Her mistress chuckled again, a little louder this time.  “No, no, it’s fine.  It’s good news, really,” she cut her off.  “It’s time to _really_ start pushing our offensive, darling.”

That just made her lover look even confused.  “What’s that mean?” she whispered.

The other girl’s smile only grew broader – to a point where it almost seemed like it should’ve been painful.

“We’re finally going to kill Homura Akemi, of course!” she declared cheerfully.  “And anyone else who happens to get in our way!”


	11. The End of the Line

The next morning, Madoka Kaname and Homura Akemi were both back in their regular seats, with no explanation of where they’d been the past day-and-a-half.

Sayaka could tell that _something_ had happened between them, though.  Madoka kept stealing furtive glances at the back of the girl’s raven hair, so frequently that Sayaka doubted her friend was taking in a single word of Saotome-sensei’s lecture.

Since she was currently ranting about how the true moral of _Romeo and Juliet_ was that Romeo was a two-timing philanderer who abandoned his original love, Rosaline, for “some barely pubescent harlot,” that was no great loss.  But still.

She’d wanted to touch base with Madoka before class, but a traffic jam during the bus ride over meant the pair arrived only a few minutes before the morning bell.  There was a lot they needed to discuss, and Sayaka didn’t want to rush any of it.

And besides…

Most of what she had to say was _no business_ of Homura Akemi.

 _God,_ how she hated that girl.  It was a strong word to use for someone she knew so casually, but she couldn’t deny the truth of it.  Akemi pushed all her buttons in the worst possible way – aloof, unsociable, and indifferent to just about _everyone_ who wasn’t Madoka.

And it wasn’t that she was simply anxious or uncomfortable around others.  _That,_ Sayaka could’ve sympathized with.  Madoka herself had been like that as a child, and still fell into it now and again.

No, Akemi seemed to give off the air that most people weren’t _worthy_ of her attention.  That she existed on a higher level than “lowly mortals” like Sayaka or Kyoko, and deigning to speak with them was some kind of step down.

Sure, she was smart, and athletic, and drop-dead gorgeous.  Sayaka could admit that.  Objectively speaking, she probably _was_ “better” than her classmates in a lot of ways.

But minus the athletic prowess, someone like Hitomi had all those same things going for her, and _she_ didn’t act like a stuck-up bitch about it.  She had her _other_ faults, of course, but the point was being the school idol and _also_ a decent person weren’t mutually exclusive.

Hell, it wasn’t like Akemi was _incapable_ of showing kindness and consideration, either.  She just only made the effort in the case of a single person.

Not for the first time, Sayaka found herself staring at her childhood best friend, and wondering why _she_ was so different.  It wasn’t some new thing, either; Akemi had singled her out the very day she’d transferred in, and they’d been all but inseparable since.

Could…Could it really be what Kyoko had insinuated?  Could Akemi _actually_ be…?

Sayaka attempted to turn off the not-insignificant blinders of her emotions, and look at this logically.  Despite having confirmed her own bisexuality quite… _thoroughly_ yesterday, the idea of actually being attracted to someone she’d first met before toilet-training gave her body a reaction that could best be summed up as “ha ha ha _nooooooooooope._ ”

Still, to an outsider’s eye, it was undeniable that Madoka Kaname practically _defined_ the word “cute.”  She was small, and round-faced, and done up like some fancy dress-up doll, what with the ribbons in her hair and everything.

And on top of it all, she was just so freaking _nice._   All the time, to _everyone._   If Sayaka hadn’t known her practically all her life, she’d have been tempted to assume it was all an act.

But Madoka was, if nothing else, a _terrible_ liar.  No, the sheer depth of her kindness, generosity, and empathy was one-hundred-percent sincere.  It was what made her the best damn friend a girl could ask for.

So it wasn’t _that_ much of a stretch that someone might develop feelings of… _another_ sort, if they were already so inclined.  And if it were any other girl or guy, Sayaka might not have such a problem with it.

Akemi, though?  Getting “involved” with her would only lead Madoka to heartbreak in the end.  Sayaka knew that for sure, deep down in her gut – even if she wouldn’t have been able to explain _how_ she knew.

She knew it wasn’t her place to intercede.  Madoka clearly valued her “friendship” with the brunette very much, and even if Sayaka couldn’t fully understand that (how much fun could you have with someone _that_ grim?) she had no choice but to respect it.

Still…if that bitch ever did _anything_ to hurt her best friend in the whole damn world…

She’d have Sayaka Miki to answer to.  And _nothing_ would be off the table.

 

[--------------------]

 

Homura couldn’t concentrate.

To be fair, it’d been a long time since she was _really_ capable of doing so.  It was all _so much,_ all the time.  It was why she’d done what she’d done – simply to cling onto the barest _sliver_ of sanity.

Though most of the time, _that_ was a goal that seemed almost Sisyphean.

Nevertheless, she’d managed to claw herself back to something at least _halfway_ functional, and she dreaded the idea that she might be slipping.  She’d tried to deny the signs up until now, but after that encounter outside the therapist’s office…

There wasn’t any other conclusion to draw.  Homura was really and truly fucked.

She’d felt this way before – probably more than any other person in recorded history.  It was the feeling that consumed her heart whenever Walpurgisnacht loomed in the sky, and the girl she loved lay still on the ground.

Either because she’d given her life to grant all of humanity a reprieve from the terrifying Witch…

Or because her soul had just finished transforming into something _far_ worse.

But each time she’d reached that point, the apex of her despair, she’d had an “out.”  One timeline was subsumed by the next, and so on, and _so_ on.  Like extra lives in a video game.

The memories would stick with her, of course.  They _never_ faded.  A hundred Madokas, crying in desperation for “Homura-chan” to save her, was the constant refrain that echoed through her mind.  She’d failed every last one of them, and depending on how one conceived of space and time, it was quite possible those were failures she could never _hope_ to remedy.

After all, was there truly just _one_ timeline, or many?  If it was the former – if each reversal had returned her to the same point in the timestream, negating her previous actions utterly – then she believed she could live with that.  Well…for a given definition of “living.”

Yet the question always nagged at her.  What if all those abandoned time flows _hadn’t_ been negated?  What if each trip back branched the timeline further, creating a whole new universe for her to “try again”?

Homura wasn’t a physicist, by _any_ stretch, but she had a vague understanding of the many-worlds hypothesis.  If it held true, that at least _suggested_ all those previous Madokas still existed, somewhere.

And that she’d left them behind without a second thought.

Still, this was all stuff she tried very hard _not_ to think about.  Even with all her power, it wasn’t like she had any hope of transgressing the bounds of reality.

This was the only timeline, and the only Madoka, she had any ability to protect.  And she no longer had the escape valve of her shield to fall back on.  One way or another, _this_ was the end of the line.

So there was no longer a point in holding anything back.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the blinking icon of her chat program.  Homura suppressed a pang of surprise; she hadn’t expected Madoka to reach out to her so soon, as she’d barely spoken two words since Homura dragged her out of the doctor’s office without explanation.

It wasn’t her screenname that popped up in the window, however.

 

_FemaleTitan9: man u n pinky aint talkin much 2day_

_FemaleTitan9: truble n paradice?_

Homura suppressed the urge to growl out loud.  The _last_ thing she needed now was Kyoko Sakura butting in with her trademark “antics.”

 

_SpiderLily: I respectfully request you leave well enough alone, Kyoko Sakura.  Our interpersonal relationships are a private matter, and certainly no business of yours._

_FemaleTitan9: XD_

_FemaleTitan9: man u even TYPE liek a fuckin egghed_

_FemaleTitan9: hold on some1 else gotta see dis_

**_FemaleTitan9 has added AzurePaladin to the Group Chat_ **

_AzurePaladin: Wait what_

_AzurePaladin: Kyoko what the hell are you playing at_

 

Homura was forced to amend her initial assessment.  The last thing she needed now was Kyoko Sakura _and_ Sayaka Miki butting in as a goddamn team.

Still, unwise as it was, there was one thing she couldn’t _help_ but ask.

 

_SpiderLily: Hold on a moment.  Your screenname is actually “AzurePaladin”?_

_AzurePaladin: Oh like you’ve got room to talk_

_AzurePaladin: Yours just SCREAMS “oh my god I’m an overdramatic try-hard Gothic Lolita wannabe”_

_AzurePaladin: But let’s not get sidetracked_

_AzurePaladin: I mean…SERIOUSLY, Kyoko?  You cold-shoulder me for a whole day and then suddenly throw me into a chat just to make fun of the way Akemi TYPES_

_FemaleTitan9: I AINT COLD SHOLDRIN_

_FemaleTitan9: FUCK I JUST DONT WANNA TALK BOUT IT THAT SO GODAM HARD?!!!!!1_

_SpiderLily: …Clearly there is something going on here I have neither business nor interest in learning about._

_SpiderLily: I think I shall take my leave from this farce._

_FemaleTitan9: wait hold on!!!_

Against her better judgment, Homura’s cursor remained hovering over the chat program’s “Exit” button.

 

_AzurePaladin: Well I WILL be going_

_AzurePaladin: Kyoko, let me know when you’re ready to discuss this stuff to my face like a goddamn adult_

**_AzurePaladin has left the Group Chat_ **

_FemaleTitan9: saya FUCK shes all redy gone_

_FemaleTitan9: weeeell……………all rite gess i can talk beter bout it alone_

It would’ve been hypocritical to complain about Kyoko’s spelling and grammar when Madoka was at _least_ as bad, but it still grated on Homura’s patience.

 

_SpiderLily: Fine, but make it quick._

_FemaleTitan9: all rite_

_FemaleTitan9: dont taek this teh rong way_

_FemaleTitan9: but ur thirsty af 4 pinky_

_FemaleTitan9: dont try 2 deny it_

_SpiderLily: …Do you have a point you’re building toward?_

 

Homura was careful to neither confirm nor deny those words.

 

_FemaleTitan9: well us queer gals gotta stik 2gether_

_FemaleTitan9: ;)_

_FemaleTitan9: thot may be we culd…u no…_

_FemaleTitan9: help each othr_

_SpiderLily: I have absolutely no interest in collaborating with you on this or any other matter.  You may pursue Sayaka Miki in whatever manner you desire, but keep me out of it._

_FemaleTitan9: weeeeeell…c heres teh ting_

_FemaleTitan9: we sorta_

_FemaleTitan9: all redy_

Homura raised an eyebrow.  Well _that_ was fast.  The time flows in which Sayaka Miki and Kyoko Sakura realized how they felt for one another slightly outnumbered the ones in which they didn’t, but the admission of those feelings tended to come very late – often only _after_ the birth of Oktavia.

Or Ophelia, once or twice.

Maybe it was yet another sign of how… _unique_ this world was.  Even if they didn’t realize it consciously, this wasn’t the first time “this” Sayaka and “this” Kyoko had met.  Not by a long shot.

Homura knew, perhaps better than anyone, that the heart could remember things the head could not.

 

_SpiderLily: If I’m understanding your meaning correctly, then what sort of help could you possibly need from me?_

_FemaleTitan9: u saw how pissd sayaka was_

_FemaleTitan9: i_

_FemaleTitan9: i fuckd tings up_

_FemaleTitan9: n i dunno how 2 maek it rite_

The brunette girl couldn’t believe she was being asked to provide Kyoko Sakura with romantic advice.  She was even more surprised to realize she was going to give it.

At least, she reasoned to herself, a firmer relationship between the pair would mean less risk of Sayaka Miki prying into Madoka’s affairs – especially at such a critical juncture.  As close as those two remained, there was always the risk the blue-haired girl would say just the right thing at just the right time, and…

 _Trigger_ something.

That was a risk Homura _had_ to minimize, at any cost.

Which, of course, was the only reason she would ever even _consider_ trying to play matchmaker.

_SpiderLily: She seemed to express her desires fairly clearly, just a few moments ago.  She simply wants you to talk with her._

_FemaleTitan9: cmon i no that_

_FemaleTitan9: its just_

_FemaleTitan9: thats not only ting she wants 2 talk bout_

_SpiderLily: And the other subject is a…problem?_

_FemaleTitan9: told u_

_FemaleTitan9: DONT_

_FemaleTitan9: WANNA_

_FemaleTitan9: TALK_

_FemaleTitan9: BOUT_

_FemaleTitan9: THAT_

_SpiderLily: But you do want to discuss your relationship.  You’d simply prefer to keep those topics separate._

_FemaleTitan9: yeah…_

_FemaleTitan9: yeah u perty much got it_

_SpiderLily: Well then…have you tried just telling her that?_

_FemaleTitan9: uh_

_SpiderLily: I may have few positive things to say about Sayaka Miki, but she is generally a reasonable person.  Set some ground rules and boundaries for your conversation, and I see no reason why she wouldn’t respect them._

_FemaleTitan9: well wen u put it liek that_

_FemaleTitan9: …_

_FemaleTitan9: all rite fine_

_FemaleTitan9: but only if u do the sam ting_

Homura furrowed her eyebrows.

 

_SpiderLily: I fail to see what you mean._

_FemaleTitan9: cmon dont b a bitch_

_FemaleTitan9: im talkin bout askin pinky out, DUH_

_SpiderLily: …There is little chance of that ever happening.  And it wouldn’t be your business if it did._

_FemaleTitan9: D:_

_FemaleTitan9: but ud b so CUTE_

_FemaleTitan9: cute wittle baby gays_

_FemaleTitan9: dont u wanna get a tast o dat fluffy pink buuuuuuuuuush_

_SpiderLily: This conversation is over._

**_SpiderLily has left the Group Chat_ **

 

Homura had to practice a great deal of self-restraint not to slam her head into her desk.  That was the _last_ time she would stick out her neck to help someone who wasn’t Madoka Kaname.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Absent a second day in a row?  This isn’t like Tomoe-san,” observed the homeroom teacher of class 3-E.  “Do any of you happen to know where she might be?”

There was a general murmur in the negative among her classmates.  One boy raised his hand and suggested she might be sick.

“That seems the most likely explanation.  But I’d have expected to hear from her family by now if that was the case,” the teacher said.  “Do any of you know where she lives?  I’d like to see about sending some assignments so she doesn’t fall behind.”

Again, a number of shaking heads.  One girl, however, replied, “I’m not really that close with her…but I saw her with some underclassmen the other day.  I know one was that rich girl, Shizuki-san.  And then there was the girl who broke all those fitness records…Akami-san, I think?”

The teacher picked up a tablet and began scrolling through a digital version of the school registrar.

“Ah, Saotome-san’s class.  I’ll have a word with her after school,” he told them after a moment.  “In any event, that concludes roll call, so let’s move on.  We’re going to resume discussion of the fraught relationship between Queen Victoria and the Earl of Phantomhive…”

But his lecture was cut short when the door to the classroom slid open, drawing all eyes.

“I’m very sorry for my inexcusable tardiness!” exclaimed Mami Tomoe, bowing low.  “And for so rudely disrupting the learning environment of my classmates!”

“It’s, err…it’s alright,” said the teacher, taken aback.  “Frankly, your apology was far more disruptive than the tardiness itself.  Take your seat, Tomoe-san.  We’ll speak about your unexcused absence after class.”

“Of course,” Mami answered quickly, bowing one more time for good measure.  Then, red-faced, she scrambled toward her desk.

“Yes, now… _ahem,_ where were we…” he continued on with a cough.  “Ah, yes.  Now, the figure of Jack the Ripper became surprisingly key to the eventual downfall of the Victorian regime.  While initially suspected to be an upper-class male, the culprit the Earl fingered ultimately turned out to be…”

But while a number of his pupils were already glassy-eyed and not taking in a word of this lecture…

The ninth-grade teacher had little idea just how _literal_ that was, in one student’s case.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Hey, Blue-dilocks.  Ya got a second?” Kyoko called out, as the students began shuffling out of the classroom for lunch.  She was staring straight at her, suddenly full of a conviction that hadn’t been there all morning.  “I wanna…y’know.  Talk.”

Sayaka opened her mouth to respond, but suddenly found herself frozen.  She parted and then closed her lips several times over, yet no sound came out.

This is what she’d asked for, wasn’t it?  For Kyoko to drop all the bullshit and have a _real_ conversation with her?  “Blue-dilocks” suggested their talk wouldn’t be one- _hundred_ -percent bullshit-free, but this at least seemed a step in the right direction.

Now that the moment had come, though, Sayaka found she had nothing to say.  It was cowardly, rude, hypocritical…

But she turned away, and ignored her roommate’s pleas.

Instead, her eyes fell upon Madoka – who, it seemed, was being similarly called upon by Homura Akemi.  And…

Sayaka blinked.  She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

But Madoka Kaname, patron saint of patience and good manners…was _also_ ignoring the words of her close friend.

It was hard to tell from her constantly stoic expression, but Homura looked somewhat hurt by the unexplained rebuff.  Sayaka, however, took full advantage of the opening this presented, and fell into step next to her childhood best friend.

“Madoka, can we talk?” she said, keeping her voice down.  “Somewhere, err… _private?_ ”

The pink-haired girl chanced a single glance over her shoulder – almost certainly to see if Akemi was following her, as she so often did.

Then, she whispered back, “I…think that’s exactly what I need right now.”

They wound up settling in an empty classroom, which served as home for the crafts club.  As a member, Madoka knew it would remain completely unused until after school.  She saw one of her paper creations hanging from the ceiling nearby and tried to casually brush it away, flushing out of embarrassment.

Both girls started to say something at the same time, then withdrew.  They each looked askance, perfect mirrors of awkwardness.

Eventually, Madoka mumbled, “Umm…why don’t you go first?”

Sayaka let out a sigh.  “Alright, if you insist,” she responded, wringing her hands.

Then, without further preamble, she launched into much the same story she’d told Hitomi yesterday.  She even included a few details she’d tastefully edited out for the benefit of her prim and proper friend, though she still left out a few things.

Like the encounter with Kyoko’s evil ghost-dad.

When she finished, however, the look upon Madoka’s face wasn’t at all what she expected.  While she knew Madoka and Kyoko weren’t the best of friends – not out of any particular animosity, just that they didn’t know each other very well – she had witnessed Madoka’s reaction to numerous couples getting together, regardless of the individuals involved.

And whether they be guys, girls, or a mix of the two, Madoka was _always_ ecstatic.

No one embodied the philosophy of “love is love” more than Madoka Kaname, a girl so genuinely good-hearted that she could say things like “Oh, there’s nothing greater than having a single drop more of love in the world!” without a _hint_ of irony.

Now, however?  Madoka looked absolutely _distraught._

“Uh…what’s the matter?” Sayaka asked.  “I mean…I know she can be kind of a pain, but I think this was meant to be.  It’s scary, sure…but when I’m with Kyoko, there are times when I’m happier than I can remember being in a _long_ time.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” muttered Madoka, her head making small, jittery nods.  “Yeah, that’s good…”

“If you have a problem, just say it,” said Sayaka, finding herself growing irrationally angry.  “I mean, it’s not ‘cuz we’re… _y’know._   Right?  It can’t be.  I mean, you’re staying with your lesbian aunts right _now!_ ”

“Oh god, no!  It’s not that at all!” Madoka exclaimed, holding up her hands defensively.  “I mean…I guess it _kinda_ is.  But not like that!  I…well… _oooooooh_ …”

That last, quiet groan was so defeated and pathetic that it instantly drained away any remaining ire from Sayaka’s body.  Plus, she couldn’t help but notice…

“Are you blushing?” she teased, unable to help herself.  “God, you are!  But…oh, oh shit!  I think I get it now!”

In absence of any further clarification from the increasingly red-faced Madoka, she guessed, “This is because of what’s going on with Akemi, isn’t it?  It must make hearing about us, err…doing _that_ …pretty damn awkward.”

Slowly, without meeting her gaze, Madoka nodded.

“Look, just because you support gay relationships in general, doesn’t mean you _have_ to accept anything a girl throws your way,” Sayaka tried to explain.  “If you’re getting hit on, it’s your right to step back and tell them to knock it the hell off.  Guy _or_ girl.”

At this, finally, her friend raised her head and looked her in the eyes.  “Wh…What are you talking about?” she said, sounding genuinely confused.

“Well, I guess I don’t know for sure.  It was Kyoko’s theory originally, and you know how _those_ can go.  So if I’m totally off-base, I apologize,” answered the blue-haired girl.  “But she’s pretty sure Akemi is…y’know.  _Interested_ in you.”

Once again, Madoka’s reaction was something Sayaka couldn’t have even _hoped_ to see coming.

She _laughed._

“Oh god, Sayaka-chan!  That’s rich!” she chuckled, one hand over her mouth to muffle it.  “Sure, Homura-chan is gay, but she wouldn’t be interested in a nobody like me.  Not when she could have _any_ girl in the whole school.”

The mirth disappeared just as quickly as it came, however, and soon Madoka was back to averting her eyes, while simultaneously shrinking back in her chair – as if trying to make herself as small and insignificant as possible.

“No…No, the truth, it’s…” she breathed out, with difficulty.  “It’s, well…it’s the opposite…”

Then, after inhaling and exhaling very deeply, she squeezed her eyes tight and admitted the truth out loud for the third time.

But this wasn’t like saying it to her father, who was so divorced from the whole situation as to essentially be an impartial, neutral party.  It wasn’t like saying it to Doctor Tenjou, whose _job_ it was to be precisely that.

This was saying it to her best friend in the whole wide world, which would make these feelings real in a way they’d never quite been before.

“I….I’m the one who likes _her._ ”

 

[--------------------]

 

Kyoko stalked through the halls of Mitakihara Middle School, forgoing her lunch break for the first time since _coming_ to this stupid school.

Mind, she currently had a cheeseburger, two apples, three candy bars, and a nearly full box of Rocky stuffed into her school uniform – and that was just on her person, there was even _more_ back inside her desk – so she was unlikely to starve due to the missed meal.

Still, it was the principle of the thing.

Her goal, naturally, was the one thing she was hungrier for than junk food: _Sayaka frickin’ Miki._   Which admittedly sounded kinda gross now that she put it like that, but she wasn’t going to take it back.

It was _true,_ after all.

Any hopes of working with Akemi to pursue their mutual, now inexplicably evasive crushes had been swifly dashed, as the raven-haired girl did her best sexy ninja impression and vanished the moment class let out.  So that left Kyoko to chase after her roommate and Li’l Miss Perfect on her own – a task at which she was doing a spectacular job of failing.

She’d checked all the logical places.  The cafeteria.  The rooftop where they’d gone to eat a couple days ago.  The tree they’d hung under yesterday with Shizuki.  The john.

But wherever the pair had gone to get away from their respective roommates, they were clearly cleverer hiders than she was a seeker.  Not a huge accomplishment, since she was a self-proclaimed slacker and general dunce, but still frustrating.

The idea of simply leaving them alone, as they’d expressed their desire for in everything _but_ words, never actually occurred to the redhead.  She was book-stupid, sure, but she was also _wicked_ stubborn.  Once she had a goal in her head, it was very easy for her to get tunnel-visioned.

Which was how she very nearly managed to barrel into someone exiting another class.

“Oh, dear!  I’m truly sorry about that,” said the other girl, as if it’d been in any way her fault.  “Are you alright?”

“Nah, my own fault fer not watchin’ where I was go…” Kyoko began to reply, but she stopped short when she realized who she was talking to.

There was no mistaking those kindly golden eyes, or that silky blonde hair that ended in spirals like curly fries.

“Get outta town, Tomoe!  Shit, ya had us worried!” she exclaimed, slapping the older girl on the shoulder a couple of times for good measure.  “Can’t just spew a fistful o’ crazy an’ then disappear fer two days, gives people the wrong idea!”

“I’m, erm…sorry if I troubled you,” Mami apologized once again.  “It was a stomach flu, that was all.  Completely unrelated to my… _ahem_ …memory issues.”

Kyoko took an instinctive step back, just in case she was still contagious.  “Gotcha, gotcha,” she tossed off, more to fill space than anything else.  “Anyway…ya doin’ anythin’ fer lunch?”

The blonde slowly shook her head.  “For some reason, I haven’t seemed very hungry lately,” she said with a shrug.  “Perhaps that will change when I get home to my fridge full of cakes.  I feel like there’s something I’m neglecting there…”

“In that case, feel like doin’ me a solid?  I’ll owe ya!” Kyoko cut in, barely listening to the other girl.  “Lookin’ fer Sayaka an’ that Kaname girl – y’know, Tweedle Blue an’ Tweedle Pink?  Ya met ‘em the other day.  Anyway, we got separated, but I’m still pretty new here.  Figured a bigshot _senpai_ like you could gimme a hand.”

Mami frowned slightly.  “Well, I can’t guarantee anything…” she told her, her arms crossed.  “But I’ll certainly do my best.  I wanted to see them as well, actually.  All of your friends.”

“Huh?  How come?” asked Kyoko.

“To apologize,” Mami answered.

The redhead let out a loud snort.  “O’ course.  Shoulda figured,” she muttered to herself.  “Alright then, c’mon.”

Now a duo, the two girls quickly set to work covering as much ground as possible.  They went floor by floor, darting into one sparsely inhabited classroom after another, with little regard to how it made them look.

As they searched, however, Kyoko found herself swimming in an intense wave of déjà vu.  There was something intensely… _familiar_ about what they were doing, as if this was far from the first time she and Tomoe had worked together.

It seemed silly; they’d only met for the first time two days ago.  And yet…

Sayaka’s stupid conspiracy theory about mass memory-loss wouldn’t leave her alone.  Nor would a few other things.

“Hey, listen…” she said, catching up to the blonde and tugging on the sleeve of her uniform.  “Remember back on the roof, when ya were goin’ all Looney Tunes on us?  An’ ya…knew all that stuff ‘bout us?”

“You shouldn’t worry too much about that.  My head wasn’t on straight then, but it is now,” Mami declared firmly.  “But I appreciate your concern.  You’re all such good girls.”

Again, since they were practically strangers, this seemed a peculiar thought to have – but it filled her mind nevertheless.  Mami Tomoe didn’t _sound_ like herself.

She was about to say something to that effect, but before she could the blonde stopped mid-step in the hallway.  Kyoko had to engage in some creative footwork to avoid running into her.

“Yo, Barbie, what’s goin’ on?” she demanded, her arms outstretched wide.  “Ya figured out where the other girls are?”

“I hear it,” spoke Mami, her voice suddenly low and distant.

Kyoko’s expression darkened as she circled around the older girl, whose posture was stiff as a board.  Once they were face to face, she saw that Mami’s eyes were dim and unfocused, almost glazed over.

“I hear it,” she repeated, a bit more loudly.  “I hear the voice of God.”

“Okay, this…this is _really_ startin’ ta get inta Freakytown territory,” said Kyoko, stumbling back a few steps.  “An’ whadaya mean, _God?_   This got somethin’ ta do with my dad?  Are…Are ya… _gaaaaaaah,_ fuck it!  Start talkin’!”

“She only recognizes one ‘God’ now.  And I’m a lot cuter than that ‘Jesus’ d-bag.”

The voice was high, female, almost _sickeningly_ sweet.  And it came from behind her.  Alarmed, Kyoko turned to find the source…

But was caught by the wrist, freezing her in place.  Kyoko looked down and saw what could only be described as a long, yellow ribbon, wrapped tightly around her arm.  The other end trailed back to Mami, where it disappeared into her sleeve.

Kyoko tried to pull away, at first gently and then more forcefully, but whatever this “ribbon” was actually made of it held her in place like a vice.  Then, before her crimson eyes, another one snaked out and snagged her by the other wrist, moving as if by magic.

“Oh, keep struggling!  Please, that makes it _so_ much more fun to watch!” exclaimed that childish voice, before its source skipped merrily into her field of vision.

She had fluffy, almond-brown hair, and eyes of greenish-blue.  Her exact age was unclear, but regardless she was _very_ short; not all that much taller than a single meter.  Her blouse and dress were cute, simple affairs – certainly not a Mitakihara Middle School uniform – with the most notable part of her attire a silvery necklace, around which several small jewels dangled, like keys on a ring.

“Who the fuck’re you?” spat Kyoko, trying to wrench her arms out of their restraints to no avail.  “What’ve ya done ta Tomoe?”

“I’ve done what you could not, Kyoko Sakura.  I’ve _helped_ her,” said the childlike girl.  “She was being torn apart by all her icky memories, in more ways than one.  Poor girl had _no_ idea what the truth was.  But look at her now!  Things are so _simple._ ”

She gestured to Mami with both hands, like a game show host showing off a fabulous prize.  The blonde didn’t react at all.

Her lip curled into a cruel sneer.  “Now service to Sasa Yuki is the _only_ truth she knows,” she added, letting out a quick, maniacal giggle.

Then, as if to emphasize the point, she stood up all the way on her tip-toes, grabbed Mami’s ample breasts with both hands, and squeezed them playfully.  _Still_ no reaction from the older girl.

“Matsuri…” called out another unfamiliar voice, before Kyoko could say anything.  It seemed to come from around the corner, so she couldn’t see the speaker.  “I can do the same thing to this one’s memories as I did the Tomoe girl.  But will it be enough to take on Akemi?”

“Oh, I think everything will be _quite_ all right, Suzune-chan,” responded the girl who called herself Sasa.  “We still have _one_ more pawn in play, after all.”

 

[--------------------]

 

“She’s not right for you!” exclaimed Sayaka, before she could stop herself.

Madoka’s mouth fell open slightly.  “Wh…What do you mean…?” she said in a small voice.

The blue-haired girl flushed brilliantly, instantly regretting her outburst.  She _knew_ this wasn’t any of her business, and yet…

“Look, are you totally sure?” she asked, in lieu of a proper answer.  “I won’t deny she’s pretty and all that junk.  But she’d be a shitty girlfriend.  You gotta admit that.”

The other girl’s lip just quivered, in a way that made Sayaka come close to dropping this line of questioning entirely and hugging her tight.  But she controlled herself.  She was already in _this_ deep, so she might as well speak everything on her mind.

“Madoka, I’ve known you longer than any of my other friends.  You’re pretty much like a sister to me,” she continued.  “So I _know_ you, maybe better than anybody.  You’re the kindest, most giving person I’ve ever met.  You deserve someone who gives you back just as much – and that’s _not_ Akemi.”

“That…That’s not fair, Sayaka-chan,” Madoka tried to argue back.  “You haven’t given Homura-chan the chance to _really_ know her.  Sure, she’s kinda… _cold,_ sometimes.  But that’s just on the outside.  She’s really a good person underneath, I’ve seen it.”

“But that’s just it, Madoka.  I don’t _have_ to know anything more,” said Sayaka.  “There’s this rule I read online once.  I forget exactly how it goes, but it’s something like…if you go out with someone, and they’re nice to you but rude to the waiter, they’re not _really_ a nice person.”

She placed both hands on Madoka’s shoulders, and looked her straight in the eyes.

“The fact that Akemi’s a total bitch to everyone _but_ you should tell you everything you need to know,” she added, each of her words emphatic and deliberate.  “How she treats me, or Hitomi, or Kyoko?  That’s how she’ll treat _you_ in a few months.  Once she’s gotten what she wants out of you.”

“Now hold on a minute!” the pink-haired girl finally raised her voice.  “That’s why I said you don’t know her!  Homura-chan doesn’t ‘want’ anything from me.  She’s never tried to pressure me, or…or do any of the stuff you might be thinking of!  She…”

Madoka took a deep, steadying breath.  “She just wants me to be happy,” she went on.  “It’s not just something she says.  Trust me, Sayaka.  I _know_ when someone’s just faking that kinda thing.  And Homura-chan’s _not_ that sort of girl.”

Her friend didn’t say anything for a fair amount of time.  Eventually, though, both arms slipped off of Madoka’s shoulders, and she crossed them close to her chest.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” she murmured.  “Look, Madoka, I…I _do_ trust you.  It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable of making your own decisions.  Hell, it’s not like _I’ve_ shown much better judgment about this stuff.”

“…Then what’s the problem?” asked Madoka, after a pause.

“The ‘problem’ is I don’t trust _her!_ ” Sayaka shot back.  “And sorry, but I never will!  Akemi’s hiding something – something _big._   I feel it every time I look at her.  Whatever it is…I’m worried about you getting mixed up in it.”

Another lengthy period of silence followed these words.  Madoka spent it staring off into a corner, cheek leaned against her palm.

Then, without turning back to face her friend, she said very quietly, “What if I told you I already knew?”

“Madoka…” Sayaka breathed out, but the pink-haired girl cut her short.

“Before you say anything, I can’t tell you what it is.  And I know that’s just gonna make you worry even more, but…I’m sorry.  It’s not my secret to tell,” she explained, the words tumbling out of her mouth almost too fast for her tongue to keep up.  “But I can promise you this: I’m _not_ in danger.  Because Homura-chan is looking out for me.  I know that probably won’t comfort you much, but it _does_ for me.”

Finally, she shifted in her chair, meeting her best friend’s gaze once more.  Those bright, rose-hued eyes were shimmering with an emotion Sayaka knew all too well.

Because she’d seen it in her own reflection for _years,_ every time her thoughts turned to Kyosuke.  Or, in recent days…to a new target.

This wasn’t just some silly, meaningless crush, fueled by how undeniably attractive her new friend was.

Whether she realized it herself or not…there was a good chance Madoka Kaname was in love.

“You…You have to promise me one thing,” said Sayaka, half-wishing she could take back her words even as she spoke them.  “That if she ever hurts you, in _any_ way…that you won’t try to make excuses, or justify her behavior.  That you’ll come _right_ to me, or to your folks.”

Madoka bit her lip, as she had something she wanted to say to that, but ultimately clamped down on it and nodded.

“I…think I can promise that,” she replied.  “Not that it’s gonna matter.  I told you already, Sayaka-chan.  Homura-chan _isn’t_ going to return these feelings.  There’s no point in admitting them if I already know the answer.”

“Then you’re going to keep this all bottled up inside?  Just… _hope_ it goes away on its own someday?” demanded Sayaka, more strongly than she’d been intending.  “You saw me do the same thing with Kyosuke.  I was too much of a coward to come out and say it, and Hitomi got there first.  It’s no way to live.”

Part of her couldn’t believe she was saying such a thing.  It was almost as if she was _encouraging_ Madoka to pursue a relationship with that girl – after everything she’d just said!  And yet…

The look in Madoka’s eyes, when she’d resigned herself to never confessing what was in her heart?

Sayaka found herself willing to do just about _anything_ to make that look go away.

“Why are you so sure she _can’t_ like you back?” she asked.  “Because of her looks?  Her grades?  Her popularity?”

“All that…and more…” mumbled Madoka, and the blue-haired girl had a shrewd guess the “and more” had to do with the secrets she wasn’t allowed to talk about.  “I told you, Sayaka-chan, she could have _anyone._   If she doesn’t have a girlfriend right now, it’s because she doesn’t want one.  Who am I to try and butt in?”

“Maybe.  Or maybe she’s just waiting for the _right_ girl,” said Sayaka.  “Look, I still don’t think pursuing a relationship with Akemi is a good idea.  But if you’re dead-set on it, then _this_ shouldn’t be the thing standing in your way.  If not doing so is gonna keep you from being happy…then go ahead and confess.  What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could reject me,” Madoka answered flatly.  “She could decide it’s too creepy to stick around someone with a dumb crush on her.  And I’ll have lost the only real friend I’ve made in _years._   All for nothing.”

“Did you really not make any back then?” whispered Sayaka, hating herself for taking over a month to ask this question.  “Y’know, when you were…”

Madoka cut her off with a shake of the head.

“No, never.  I’m not sure why.  I had people I connected with over there, but it never really…” she started, before her voice fell away.  “The point is…I still don’t have very many true friends.  You.  Hitomi-chan and Kyosuke-kun.  Kyoko-chan, maybe.  I don’t really know her that well, to be honest.  And…And Homura-chan.  That’s all.  I don’t…I _can’t_ lose any of you.  Not because of something like this.  Not because my h…hormones decided to be stupid.”

Even in the midst of such a serious moment, Sayaka almost had to laugh at her friend’s utter inability to say a word like “hormones” without stuttering.  That was _classic_ Madoka.

“I’ll bet you’ve heard something like this before,” the blue-haired girl finally decided to say.  “Especially if you’ve already told your mom and dad, ‘cuz they’re pretty direct people.  But here it goes anyway.”

Without further warning, she pulled her best friend into a close hug, and muttered into her ear, “It’s no use dwelling on the _worst_ thing that could happen.  Not if it means you’re making yourself miserable in the process.”

“Then…what should I do instead?” Madoka gasped out, also whispering.  Sayaka could sense the wetness gathering in her friend’s eyes, even if she couldn’t see it.

“You’re the most hopeful person I’ve ever met, Madoka.  It’s part of why I love you so much,” responded Sayaka, a small smile appearing on her face despite herself.  “So… _hope._   Hope in a future that’s bigger and brighter than this one.  Think of the best thing that could possibly happen between you and Akemi…and put your hope in _that._ ”

“If someone ever tells me it’s a mistake to have hope…” said Madoka, her lips barely moving.  “Well then, I’ll just tell them they’re wrong.  And I’ll keep telling them until they believe.  No matter how many times it takes.”

Sayaka pulled back slightly, so that she could see her friend’s face.  “That sounds like a quote,” she remarked, frowning curiously.  “I like it.  Do you know who said it?”

“I…” panted Madoka, and for a second – for whatever reason – her eyes went wide as saucers.  “I’m…not sure…”

It looked like she might have something else to say on the subject, if she could only think it through a little more.  But Sayaka never got to hear it.

Because in that moment, the wall of the otherwise-empty clubroom _exploded._

Both Sayaka and Madoka were thrown away by the blast, slamming into the opposite wall with a force just shy of enough to crack their skulls.

Still, even without serious injuries, the blue-haired girl found her ears ringing and her vision blurred.  It was like a scene in a movie, with the camera out-of-focus and everything moving in slow-motion.

She didn’t have the luxury of time to gather her bearings, however.  Because another figure was already looming over the pair, stepping confidently through the gaping hole they’d just made in the wall.

Sayaka blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to get a clearer picture of their assailant.

It was a girl, about their age, with short black hair and golden-orange eyes.  An enormous eyepatch covered nearly the entire right side of her face, and as for what she was wearing…

Was…Was that _cosplay?_   It looked straight out of a Magical Girl show – if a fairly dark one, given the predominant color was black.  It sort of resembled if a trench coat and a skirt were merged together.

The things sticking out of her frilly sleeves, however, didn’t look very much like cosplay props.  From each hand protruded three, sharply curved claws, each nearly half a meter long.

And they were _glowing._

“Aw…no Akemi?  Dammit, thought she’d be here by now,” said the girl.  She had a rough, informal speaking pattern, similar to Kyoko’s.  “Ah well.  I guess ya can do in the meantime.”

Then, without further ado, she raised one set of claws and held them high above her head.  Before Sayaka’s eyes, they expanded to double their original length.

“ _Time ta die, bitches!_ ”


	12. One Second More

Over the past thirty-four days, Homura had been faced by one question more than any other.  It was a deceptively simple one, and yet as she searched the halls of Mitakihara Middle School for any sign of Madoka Kaname, it was the one plaguing her every thought.

 _Did_ she have any limits?

With her power, interceding in a given situation was no longer a matter of whether she _could_ act, but whether she _should._   Nothing, ultimately, was beyond her ability to change.

And that, in itself, was a terrifying thought.

Human beings, after all, were defined by their limits.  They could be imposed by nature, or society, or even oneself – but any man or woman who claimed to be _truly_ unencumbered in all their decisions was a fool.

Homura, of course, hadn’t been “human” for a very long time.  But she’d been limited in so many other ways.  The limits of the Magical Girl system, constructed between the guardrails of the Incubators’ inflexible laws.  The limits of her existence _as_ a Magical Girl, forced into the role of huntress merely to remain herself.

And the limits she _herself_ had chosen, in the words she’d used to express her heart’s deepest, most desperate Wish.

None of those applied any longer.  A thought had but to cross her mind, and it was only her own tenuous willpower that stood in the way of making it reality.

That was why she’d set “rules” for herself, at the beginning of this timeline.  She _had_ to.  Because there was no one, on any plane of existence, whom she trusted _less_ than herself.

Those rules were complicated, and multitudinous, and occasionally contradictory.  And she’d already violated at least half of them.  Her resolution not to share even a _hint_ about the existence of magic with Madoka, for example.  She had nothing but her own poor impulse control to thank for _that_ blunder.

But that just made her cling all the more tightly to the handful that still remained.

The fact remained that, if she wanted to, she could know where Madoka was right _now._   She could know where she was at _all times._

Once she crossed a line like that, though…Homura knew there was no going back.  If her resolve broke once, it could and _would_ shatter again.  It’d be far too much temptation for a _sane_ person – and she was self-aware enough to recognize that wasn’t a word that’d applied to her for quite some time.

After all, wasn’t that what _all this_ had been for?  What she’d fought, and bled, and sacrificed so much for, on her sojourns through time and space?

Throughout it all, she’d sought a world in which Madoka Kaname could smile again.  As gently and as innocently as the day they’d first met.  And despite a few “stumbling blocks” here and there, she’d succeeded.  That world was _this_ one.

Every day, Madoka was able to live in quiet, uncomplicated bliss.  She and her parents and Tatsuya were together, united as a family, with the worst problem they had to deal with being Junko’s drinking habits.

Her relationships with her friends, too, were as good as they’d ever been.  With the messiness of their love triangle behind them, Sayaka Miki, Hitomi Shizuki, and Kyosuke Kamijou were all free to provide the care and support Madoka deserved.  And as that triangle slipped further and further into the past, the closer the blue-haired girl became with Kyoko Sakura.

Only Mami Tomoe remained an outlier – but despite all the mysteries surrounding the older girl in this timeline, _that_ made sense.  She and Madoka really had no reason to meet or become friends, in a world outside the Magical Girl system.

None of these were people Homura was especially fond of.  She doubted there were _any_ such people these days, outside of Madoka herself.

But Madoka cherished her bonds with them more than life itself.  Her happiness would not be complete without theirs.

So Homura _would_ fight for this world.  To the bitter end, if need be.  And any actions that could threaten Madoka’s happiness…were crimes beyond countenance.

Which was all a roundabout way of justifying to herself why she wasn’t using her powers to locate the girl this very second.  It would be _so_ easy; as effortless as snapping her fingers.  But she knew her own follies.  She _knew_ she wouldn’t stop there.

She’d spy on Madoka at school, at home, during her club activities.  Ostensibly to keep an eye on her; protect her from any danger.  But really, what was the point in lying inside her own _head?_   Like everything she did, her true motivations would be _far_ more selfish.

Especially given how quickly her subconscious had jumped to peeking on Madoka during her baths.

Homura had already taken _so_ much from the girl she loved.  The last vestiges of her privacy wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ be one of them.  Otherwise, would she really be anything more than a bird in a gilded cage?

And no caged bird could be happy, the way she _needed_ Madoka to be.

If Madoka grew to resent this world – worse, if she fell into the despair that’d claimed so many iterations of her untainted soul – then that meant everything Homura had ever done, everything she’d ever fought for, was all for _nothing._

It was fine if she hated _her,_ of course.  That was reasonable, expected.  The things she’d done to make this world a reality were unforgivable.

Just so long as Madoka remained happy, _all_ other things were acceptable.  That was the iron truth that undergirded her every last action.

And so, as painful and exhausting and pointless as it was, Homura used nothing more than the skills of an ordinary human girl to conduct her search.  No matter how much temptation clawed away at her heart, she held firm.

Which was why she didn’t hear Madoka’s scream until it was almost too late.

 

[--------------------]

 

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” demanded Sayaka Miki, as she pulled Madoka alongside herself in a clumsy dodge-roll to escape their assailant’s opening strike.  It was a very close miss.  “Who the hell _are_ you?!”

The brunette didn’t answer this with words, but with a snide, knowing smirk.  Instead, what she said was, “Nothin’ personal, tiny-tits.  No clue who either o’ ya are.”

Then she raised one set of her glowing claws and pointed them straight at Madoka’s head, and added, “But Mistress says the best way ta lure out Akemi is ta put _this_ chick in danger.  An’ what Mistress says, _goes._ ”

“Oh, so this is about _her._   Of fucking course,” muttered Sayaka, chancing a single glance back at her best friend.  Unsurprisingly, she looked utterly terrified.  “Well I’m not letting you _near_ Madoka!”

Their attacker just let out a sigh, and began scraping her claws against each other in apparent irritation.

“I don’t think ya _get_ it, girly,” she told Sayaka.  “Yer not even on the _list._   Sure, yer a Magical Girl an’ all, but that means Mistress doesn’t think yer of any use – friend _or_ foe.  An’ _that_ means…I can do ta ya whatever the hell I want.”

“Wait.  Magical… _what_ now…?” asked the blue-haired girl, bewildered.

But the other girl seemed to be done with talking.  She brought her claws forward and lunged again, slashing wildly.  All the while, she was _giggling._

Sayaka managed to dodge the first couple of strikes, but only barely – and doing so forced her wildly off-balance.  The brunette seemed to be moving faster than was humanly _possible,_ and her attacks were utterly relentless.

Which made it only a matter of time before one met its mark.

Oddly, the first sign of the wound _wasn’t_ any kind of pain.  Indeed, she barely felt a thing, her body locking up into some kind of strange numbness.

Instead, it was the bloodcurdling scream that escaped from the lips of Madoka Kaname – whom she had, instinctively, shoved out of the way.

The blue-haired girl looked at her petrified friend, lying prone on the ground, and then down at herself.  Blood, crimson and thick, streamed down the front of her school uniform, its source a trio of deep gashes across her chest area.

Then, her vision faded to a blur of color and motion, and she fell forward.

The last thing she heard was her best friend’s frantic, earsplitting cry.

“ _Sayakaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!_ ”

 

[--------------------]

 

In a nearby classroom, Suzune Amano stood guard, claymore held aloft over the heads of her captives.

As a result, they were very quiet.

Mind, she couldn’t take _full_ credit for that particular fact.  Kyoko Sakura, after all, was unconscious, and Nagisa Momoe was even less than that – separated from her Soul Gem, she was little more than a tiny corpse.  And as for Mami Tomoe…

Well, puppets didn’t tend to move much when their strings weren’t being pulled.

Unfortunately, her sword’s magic only copied the powers of the Magical Girls it slew, not the knowledge of how to _use_ them.  Kagari Hinata had been able to manipulate memories as finely and delicately as a craftswoman weaving silk, whereas her own attempts were far… _cruder._   It wasn’t like there was an instruction manual for this sort of thing, after all.

That was why the blonde girl was in the state she was now – still, silent, staring blankly into space.  More robot than Magical Girl.

Rather than reconstructing an entire psyche from scratch, it’d been easier to purge just about everything, and rebuild around one, singular directive: _Obey Matsuri._

As far as Suzune was concerned, there really wasn’t much else this girl _needed_ to know.

To be sure, she’d occasionally wondered exactly what her cherished friend’s endgame _was._   As bright and kind and positive as Matsuri Hinata was, enslaving other Magical Girls to build an army seemed almost…out of character?

For the fiftieth time that day, Suzune found herself experiencing an agonizing headache.  No…No, it _wasn’t_ her role to second-guess such things.  Surely, Matsuri had a plan.  She just wasn’t seeing it yet.

Matsuri had never steered her wrong before.  She was just a tool to ensure the innocent girl’s hands stayed clean.

And tools _didn’t_ ask questions.

Of course, tools were _also_ supposed to stay busy.  Suzune had never been comfortable idling – or at least she was pretty sure that was the case.  Having only been Awakened the day prior, her own memories weren’t in much better shape than these poor girls’.

Regardless, she set to work with Kyoko Sakura, the sigil of a violet butterfly glowing in her blade’s pommel as she channeled the magic of Kagari Hinata.

Magic she’d never actually _obtained_ in this particular version of reality.  Time was a strange thing.

First, she stripped away the girl’s most recent memories.  Suzune got brief flashes of the images as they dissipated, like a photo album being rapidly flipped through.  Since people didn’t _only_ remember visually, though, the images were… _tinged,_ perhaps was the best word, with complex impressions of sound and smell and touch.

And, of course…of emotion.  The more a memory evoked strong feelings, the closer it was held in one’s heart, the more intensely it burned itself into Suzune’s own psyche.

She saw…well, to start with, a _lot_ of food.  Clearly, this girl felt very strongly about what she tossed into her stomach.  Mountains of snacks and fruits and tender meats danced through her mind, like some perverse parade of gluttony.

Suzune couldn’t help but let out a grunt of annoyance.  Who was this girl trying to fool?  Cursed as they were, they had no _need_ to eat.

Not that it would matter very much in a short while.

The next layer peeled back far more quickly.  These were memories of school, of lectures half-listened to and homework left unfinished, which she clearly didn’t care even _slightly_ about.  Suzune dismissed them with a wave of her hand, letting them vanish into the ether.

Then came a barrage of memories that left her stumbling.

There were hundreds, _thousands_ of these, all of them within the previous month – and all of them centered around a single face, framed by aqua-blue hair.

She recognized Sayaka Miki from Matsuri’s briefing: another Magical Girl, but one with such low potential that her chances of Awakening on her own were essentially nil.  Matsuri had categorically dismissed her as a threat – _or_ of any use as a pawn.

These memories, however, had nothing to do with magic or Witches.  She saw the redhead waking up at the crack of dawn to skillfully prepare her roommate’s lunches.  She saw her intense joy as she and Sayaka Miki engaged in any number of pointless frivolities, from shopping to karaoke to blowing all their pocket change at the arcade.

She saw all the times Kyoko Sakura had thought about acting on the feelings that burned in her heart…and ultimately backed away, terrified of rejection.

She saw the memory that blazed brightest of all, when she’d finally thrown caution to the wind and _done_ it.

For some reason, Suzune found _these_ memories far more difficult to toss away.  There was a sincerity to them, an _earnestness,_ that caused her to stay her hand.

The silver-haired girl cursed her own weakness.  She’d honed herself into a weapon so very long ago, in the wake of learning the awful truth of what Magical Girls _were._   In the long term, killing these girls was a mercy.  The feelings currently flowing through her mind – feelings so very, _very_ similar to what she herself felt for Matsuri – were doomed to end in despair, regardless.

And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to eradicate them with her own hand.

For the moment, utterly ashamed of herself, Suzune pushed those memories “to the side” and dug deeper.  Beyond this point were the things even Kyoko Sakura _herself_ couldn’t remember – because a certain something had compelled her to forget.

But those memories were still there, just as her powers were.  Their enemy had simply placed a lock upon them.

A lock that couldn’t be brute-forced without inflicting severe, perhaps _irreparable,_ trauma to the psyche.  But since Suzune wasn’t planning on leaving anything intact in the end…

“Alright, Kyoko Sakura,” she said, her mouth a thin line.  “Let’s see what _you_ Wished for.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Meanwhile, outside the school, a grievously injured girl limped forward, clutching at the stump that’d once been her arm.

She _had_ to get there in time.  Her visions had tracked Sasa Yuki here, to Mitakihara Middle School.  The place where _all_ their enemies were currently gathered.

If she didn’t hurry, then that foolish, wicked girl was going to ruin _everything._   All her careful planning and scheming, the innumerable safeguards she’d enacted to ensure Akemi couldn’t track them – all of it would be ruined.

And, even worse…her dearest might be…

She shook her head vigorously, then winced at the pain this caused her bruised neck.  She _couldn’t_ think that way.  She had to trust that the girl she loved would be strong enough to break free of Yuki’s tendrils on her own.

The silver-haired girl held her Soul Gem aloft.  With her collection of Grief Cubes stolen, she only had enough magic to do one of two things: heal her wounds, or render herself invisible to the students’ prying eyes.

She chose the latter without hesitation.

Then she shoved open the school’s double doors with her one good shoulder, and continued limping forward.

 

[--------------------]

 

Madoka knew she needed to move.  But every fiber of her body was frozen in place, unresponsive to her mind’s frantic pleas.

“Aw, I made a mess,” said the brunette girl, pouting at the blood coating her claws.  “Mistress said not ta leave any evidence behind if I could help it.  That means…”

And suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, her face contorted into abject rage.

“That means ya bitches made me _disobey Mistress!_ ” she shouted, as if that was the worst crime she could possibly imagine.  “I’ll kill kill kill kill kill kill _kill kill_ ya fer that!  I’ll leave _nothin’_ behind!  Then…Then there’s no reason she could be mad at me!  Yeah, yeah!  _That’s_ the answer!”

Madoka wasn’t really listening, though she probably should’ve been.  But she couldn’t keep her eyes from darting back to Sayaka’s limp body every few seconds.

She couldn’t _really_ be dead – could she?  Her best friend couldn’t be lying down in a pool of her own blood, looking so _incredibly_ pale…

“Why are you doing this?!” she found herself demanding, still paralyzed upon the floor.  A part of her was acutely aware that in this position, she had no way of defending herself.  “Y…You need to let me take Sayaka-chan to a doctor!  I _have_ to save her!”

“Save her?” said the other girl, repeating it in a mockingly babyish voice.  “Yeah, right!  She’ll bleed out in a minute or two.  Think ya’d better focus a little more on _yerself,_ pinky!”

And with that, she thrust her other set of claws forward, crossing the distance between them in a blink of an eye.  Madoka flinched back, bracing herself for the searing pain – but it never came.

When she opened her eyes, she saw the weapon had stopped just a few centimeters from her face.

“Almost fergot.  Ya ain’t my target here tonight,” she added, sounding as if she’d really just remembered that fact.  “Can’t kill ya until I’ve lured in the big fish.  But…that don’t mean I can’t have a little _fun_ with ya first.”

The closest claw drifted forward at an agonizing pace, until it was poking Madoka right in the cheek.  Then, with a flick of her wrist, the girl opened a tiny gash in the skin, bringing a few trickles of blood to the surface.

That’s when a fist slammed right into her assailant’s face, sending her flying the entire length of the room.

“Don’t…you _dare_ …” breathed Homura Akemi, seething with unmistakable fury.  “Lay a _finger_ on Madoka.”

“Ha ha!  I _knew_ that’d bring ya outta yer little hidey-hole!” the girl exclaimed triumphantly, despite the fact that she too was now bleeding.  Homura’s single punch had thrown her back with enough force to dent the wall.

Her raven-haired friend, meanwhile, affixed the other girl with a knowing frown.

“Kirika Kure,” she said.  “I have no idea _how_ you regained your magic, but I trust Oriko Mikuni can’t be too far behind.  Still, I’m _more_ concerned with how you’ve escaped my notice until now.”

“Oh, Mistress was very very very _very_ careful!” the girl she’d called “Kirika” replied with a smirk, as she pulled herself back to her feet and resumed a fighting stance.  “She’s been plannin’ this ferever, y’know!  Ever since ya set up this Hell on Earth.  Hmm…maybe I should share some o’ _those_ details with yer li’l ‘friend’ there?”

Her single visible eye glanced knowingly at the still-frozen Madoka.

“Shut _up!_ ” snarled Homura, moving her arm in a chopping motion through the air.  As it did, it formed a dozen bolts of purple energy, which streaked toward Kirika like bullets.

The brunette easily dodged the blasts with a complex series of gymnastics, laughing all the while.  At least until they turned around in midair, spontaneously doubled in number, and then slammed right into Kirika’s back.

Even after all she’d done, the girl’s pained screams nearly made Madoka throw up.

“You can’t win, Kirika Kure,” said Homura, advancing on their attacker with slow, purposeful steps.  “Your time-slowing magic won’t work on me, and you should realize physical attacks are utterly pointless.  Admit your defeat, and I _might_ let you return to a life of merciful ignorance.”

But despite the fact that she was now bruised and bleeding on the ground, Kirika was still smirking.  “Didn’t need ta _win,_ ” she told Homura, grin now spreading from ear to ear.  “Only needed ta distract ya…one second more.”

“Homura-chan, watch out!” cried Madoka, a moment too late.

A hand fell upon Homura’s shoulder from behind, and its owner spoke with utter glee.

“Homura Akemi…you, who’re better than I am.  By the power of my Wish, you shall follow my every command.”

 

[--------------------]

 

“Make it stop…” moaned Suzune, rolling around on the floor in agony.  “Please, just _stop_ …”

It’d been hard enough just absorbing Mami Tomoe’s memories – not only seeing but _feeling_ her approach the doors of death, before being rescued by Kyubey.  Experiencing her years of abject loneliness, toiling away at a mission she could no longer remember.  Sharing in the daily struggle of trying to reconcile what in her mind was true…and what was a carefully crafted lie.

Still, that’d been _nothing_ compared to what was waiting within the depths of Kyoko Sakura’s psyche.  She’d brushed up against it earlier, to trigger the girl’s dormant illusion powers, but that’d been “surface” contact only.  She wasn’t even sure what she’d caused the girl to see.

But if it was anything like the images flashing through her mind _now_ …

 

_“I’ll make it all right, you’ll see,” said Joji Sakura, as he spread around the kerosene.  His family would’ve responded, but they’d all been drugged with pills in that night’s dinner._

_Kyoko glared up from the floor where she’d collapsed, trying to affix her father with a burning look.  But it didn’t matter._ Nothing _mattered anymore._

_“Anzu.  Momo.  And especially you, Kyoko,” he continued.  Now he held a kitchen knife aloft, its blade gleaming in the light of the fire he’d just set.  “I want you to know…this isn’t your fault.  It’s mine.  You wouldn’t have been corrupted if I hadn’t been so weak.”_

_“D…Dad…” mumbled Kyoko, through the haze.  She was the only one still conscious.  “P…Please…don’t…”_

_But she was too late.  The knife sank into the back of her mother’s neck.  Because she always kept them in pristine condition – even when they hadn’t had any food to cut – it went in remarkably cleanly._

_Her father looked down upon his wife for several moments, without saying anything.  Perhaps in his head, he was silently praying._

_Regardless, still without speaking, he grasped the blade by the handle and pulled.  It took some doing, but it came right back out, coated with a sickening mixture of her mother’s blood, flesh, and sinew._

_Then, before Kyoko could do more than bring hot, sticky tears to her face, he plunged it into Momo’s neck as well._

_“I…need to move more quickly,” he said, eyes firmly set upon the rising flames.  Those eyes, which’d so often been filled with faith and conviction, now looked utterly lost.  “I don’t want any of you to suffer.”_

_Then he raised the knife one last time._

 

Without realizing it, Suzune had begun crying those very same tears.  Normally she flipped through memories so quickly that they were only brief snatches of sensation, but _this_ one…

The silver-haired girl mustered all her strength, wailed at the top of her lungs, and forced the memory to vanish – just as so many others already had.

No matter how intense, it was still _just_ a memory.

Even though her body no longer required oxygen, Suzune took several deep, calming breaths, until the sensations faded to a dull murmur.

“I need to get back to work,” she told herself, once her voice was stable again.  “No matter how much it hurts, I can’t fail Matsuri.  I _can’t._ ”

But once her vision managed to readjust to the dark room, she realized something rather alarming.

Nagisa Momoe was missing.

 

[--------------------]

 

Sasa Yuki pumped her fist and jumped into the air, giggling jovially at her hard-won victory.

“I did it!  I finally _did it!_ ” she exclaimed.  “I don’t even care if I have to give up Amane to take her.  Akemi’s the biggest prize on the whole goddamn _board._ ”

She leaned in close, so her cheek could nuzzle against her prey’s.

“Physical contact with someone stronger than me.  That’s all I need to activate my powers,” Sasa continued on.  She couldn’t resist the opportunity to bask in her triumph.  “But sneaking up on someone like _you?_   Impossible, I thought!  Except…no matter how much power you have, you’ve got the same weaknesses as any of these other useless worms.  And so I played you like a fucking _fiddle._ ”

She strode around Homura in a slow, leisurely circle, without removing her hand from the other girl’s shoulder.  Finally, they stood face to face – or as close to it as they could, since Homura had at least one head over her.

“Now, for my first order…” she said, a mad leer spreading across her face.  “I want you, oh mighty Homura Akemi, to _bow_ to me.  Bow before your true queen: Sasa Yuki!”

That leer only grew wider as she witnessed the stoic girl begin to sink to her knees.  For a moment, she was on top of the world.

Then Homura sank a magic-infused fist right into her gut.

The pain was far beyond what an ordinary punch should’ve felt like.  Every nerve ending was on fire, radiating out from the point of impact and seeming to grow with intensity with every passing second.  It was enough pain that any human would’ve passed out instantly – and even for a Magical Girl like her, it was a very near miss.

Once the initial shock had faded, Sasa looked down and immediately spotted the reason for her utter agony.  Even though Homura’s fist had connected with her stomach, that hadn’t been her target.

Instead, she’d been aiming for the Soul Gem that dangled, in ring form, from her necklace.  Miraculously, it appeared completely undamaged.

“Know that I _could_ have shattered you in an instant, if I felt like it,” declared Homura, her voice low and dangerous.  “I’m giving you _one_ chance to back down.”

But Sasa wasn’t having any of that.  She stomped her feet and ground her teeth in frustration.

“No, no, _no!_ ” she wailed.  “How’d you escape my control?  _How?!_ ”

Homura just crossed her arms, looking bored.  “I doubt your magic would’ve done a thing to me, even if you _did_ manage to catch me unawares,” she said.  “Of course, I’ve known about you for weeks.  You probably should’ve taken _some_ precautions.  This one’s an absolute idiot, and even she didn’t use her _real name_ while gloating.”

She gestured toward the injured Kirika, who was so consumed by rage that it radiated off her like heat – but not because of the insult.

“Ya…Ya _hurt_ Mistress…” she growled, sounding more like a wild beast than a teenage girl.  “ _I’ll kill ya!_ ”

Despite how thoroughly Homura had already beaten her, the brunette managed to return to her feet by sheer willpower.  With a guttural snarl, both sets of claws extended to double their original length.

“You’ve truly fallen since the last time I saw you, Sasa Yuki,” Homura told her enemy, more or less ignoring Kirika’s imminent threat.  “Relying on a pawn like _this_ one to do your dirty work.  Unless…no, hold on.”

She cupped her chin between the fingers on one hand, gears turning within her mind.

“You mentioned Amane earlier.  _Suzune_ Amane,” she realized aloud.  “ _She_ must be your puppet in this time flow.  Meaning you aren’t controlling Kirika Kure directly.  You simply modified her perception of reality…so that she sees _you_ as Oriko Mikuni.”

“Wh…What’re ya talkin’ about?” demanded Kirika, sparks flying as she scraped her claws together in irritation.  “ _That’s_ Mistress, right there!  It’s gotta be!”

Sasa, who’d watched this exchange with increasing panic, let out a sigh of relief.

“Of course I am, darling,” she said, batting her eyelashes toward the claw-wielding girl.  “Now be a good girl, and slice this bitch to fucking _pieces!_ ”

“You need to see through her lies, Kirika Kure,” Homura cut in, before Kirika could respond.  “If you love Oriko Mikuni as deeply as you’ve always professed…then you should be able to spot this forgery for what she is.”

Sasa, meanwhile, just rolled her eyes.  No matter how much of an upper hand her adversary might _think_ she had, this was a fool’s endeavor.

As she’d already noted, this Kure girl was an abject idiot.  Fit _only_ to serve.  There was no chance whatsoever of her realizing the deception.

Which is why it came as such a shock when the brunette suddenly spoke, “Darlin’…ya called me _darlin’_ …”

Sasa’s eyebrow twitched.  “And…what exactly is the problem there?” she asked, struggling to maintain her sugary sweet falsetto.

“Mistress calls me ‘dearest.’  Always _always_ dearest!” shouted Kirika.  “Never never never never never never _ever_ darlin’!  Which…Which means…”

The short girl took a few steps back.  “I…well…look, someone can have more than one pet name, okay?” she stammered, trying to hold the frustration bubbling up from her stomach at bay.  After everything that’d transpired, was she really about to be undone by something _this_ stupid?  “Isn’t that right, darl…err, I mean, dear…uh…oh, _screw_ it already!”

With that, she kicked open the door behind her and called out into the hallway, “Hey!  Get off your lazy asses and protect your queen!”

A few seconds passed without anything happening.  Then, another of the classroom’s walls exploded.

“You know, you _could’ve_ just used the door,” said Sasa, though her smug grin had returned in full force.

 

[--------------------]

 

Throughout all this, Madoka had been kneeling by Sayaka’s body, desperately trying everything she could to keep her best friend alive.

In the absence of any other piece of cloth, she’d removed the top of her own uniform to press against the wound, in an attempt to stem the bleeding.  It was dreadfully embarrassing, being clad only in her bra and skirt, but there were far more important things right now than her own discomfort.

That uniform was already soaked thoroughly with Sayaka’s blood, but she was too terrified of what she might see if she removed it to switch it for something else.

She just kept pressing down as hard as she could, hoping against hope that it might buy her a few more precious minutes.

With nothing else to do except weep over her dying friend, Madoka had listened on as Homura exchanged words with the two other girls.  Of course, she’d understood almost none of it.

The upshot seemed to be that the others had powers, just as Homura did – and that the raven-haired girl _wasn’t_ on friendly terms with either one.  Beyond that, Madoka was clueless.

And that became all the more pronounced when a section of the wall directly behind her crumbled to dust, and two more girls stepped through.

The first was a stranger to Madoka; a silver-haired girl with reddish-orange eyes.  Like their two attackers, she was wearing some sort of costume, though hers seemed far… _scanter_ than most, large enough only to cover her breasts and “private areas.”  A gray and white overcoat kept her from being _completely_ indecent.  Around her neck hung a pendant shaped like a Christian cross, while some sort of charm was tied into her long hair, though Madoka couldn’t see it clearly from this angle.

She also happened to be carrying a sword engulfed in purplish energy, which looked large enough to carve an elephant in two.

The second girl took far less time to identify – though the sight of her still caused Madoka to let out a sharp gasp.  Despite the strange clothing, and the eerily vacant expression in her golden eyes…

It was unmistakably Mami-senpai.

“Be good _darlings_ and kill everyone in this room, will you?” said the girl Homura had called Sasa, putting such emphasis on the word that it could only be a petty power play.  She already had one foot out of the classroom.  “Kure’s already proven how _useless_ she is, so I doubt she’s worth mind-whammying any further.  Anyway, meet me at the usual spot if you happen to survive.  Toodles!”

And with that, the diminutive girl ran off, cackling all the while.  Homura seemed poised to chase after her, but the swordswoman blocked her path.

“Not another step,” she muttered, holding her claymore at the ready.  Energy emanated from the blade and swirled around her.  “I may not be a match for you, Homura Akemi…but I can at least hold you off.”

“Suzune Amano,” replied Homura, looking at the girl appraisingly.  “We’ve never met directly, but I know your story.  This isn’t the first time you’ve been manipulated into serving as someone else’s tool.”

“I have no regrets about being a tool, if it’s for Matsuri’s sake,” Suzune told her.  “You _won’t_ touch her.”

“Matsuri’s…oh, does that wretched girl _have_ any other tricks?” Homura asked herself with a frustrated groan.  She looked back into the other girl’s intense eyes.  “I’d try to talk you down, but if you’re the one she’s controlling directly then I don’t see much point.  No doubt she’s included a command for you to ignore any evidence that contradicts her false identity…even if she couldn’t be acting more differently from Matsuri Hinata if she _tried._ ”

As this was going on, Madoka’s eyes were on Mami, who was standing still as a statue.  Then, without saying anything, a long yellow ribbon flowed out of her sleeve and floated above her head, twisting and compressing into a new shape…

Until an old-fashioned musket fell into her dainty hands.

By the time Madoka managed to scream out another warning, Mami had already taken aim and squeezed the trigger.

The bottom fell out of Madoka’s stomach for just a single moment – because in the next, with just a flick of her wrist, Homura caught the bullet between two fingers.

“This is growing… _irritating,_ ” she said with a frown.  “Mami Tomoe, if you were possessed of your mental faculties right now, you might actually pose a credible threat.  As it is, perhaps it’s best I demonstrate for Sasa Yuki… _precisely_ how much she’s underestimated the dangers of being my adversary.”

Before Madoka could blink, Homura was right up in Mami’s face, slamming her into the ground with nothing more than a single palm.  Shards of tile were knocked loose from the impact.

“I must…kill…” gasped out the blonde, her words stilted, almost robotic.  “Have to…obey…the Voice of God…”

More ribbons flowed from her costume, coming out of every seam and crevice, but before they could do any more than flex and rear back like overlong snakes, Homura waved her hand through the air.  And suddenly, the ribbons just… _crumbled._   All that was left was a cloud of golden dust, which fell upon Mami’s prone form.

Before she could mount another attack, Homura placed a foot on their upperclassman’s chest.  “Stay _down,_ ” she ordered.  “Don’t force me to take drastic measures.”

“Don’t force _me,_ either,” Suzune interjected.  Madoka’s eyes went wide with panic, as she felt the girl’s sword fall down against her neck.

For the first time since the battle began, Madoka thought she could see a trace of fear pass through her friend’s eyes.

“I hope you’re aware that there’s _no_ way this ends well for you,” said Homura, turning to the silver-haired girl even as she kept Mami pinned with her heel.  “I assure you that if a single hair on Madoka’s head is harmed, in _any_ way, the consequences will be far beyond anything you can imagine.”

“I think you misunderstand me.  I’m not threatening to use my blade to hurt this girl,” responded Suzune.  “I’ll use it to restore her memories.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Amidst all this chaos, no one – absent Homura, who had far bigger concerns on her mind – noticed Kirika being pulled quietly from the room.

Mind, this was partly because the hand _doing_ the pulling was rendered invisible to anyone whose sight was limited to physical eyes.  Beaten and exhausted from her all-too-brief battle with Homura Akemi, the brunette girl would’ve had a hard time resisting _anyone_ whose grip was so tight.  But that wasn’t the main reason she was allowing herself to be led out of that ruined classroom.

It was because she _recognized_ that hand, even if she couldn’t actually see it.  And it was one she’d follow to the ends of the Earth and back.

The invisible person moved at a pace that was at once harried and halting, as if their body couldn’t go quite as fast as their mind wanted it to.  They went down several corridors, all of them thankfully unoccupied, in a rush to get as far away from the battle as possible.

Finally, her guide stopped in front of a girl’s bathroom and pushed it open.  A “CLOSED FOR CLEANING” sign had already been posted on it.

“Thank heavens.  I wasn’t sure we’d make it this far,” said her savior.  “I can finally dispel this bothersome enchantment.  It eats up mana like nobody’s business.”

The first thing Kirika felt when the invisible veil fell away, and the face she’d been expecting came into view, was utter elation.  It was what she felt _every_ time she saw her Mistress, of course, but this was different.  Staring at the real thing, how could she have _ever_ fallen for a fake?

Her second reaction, however, was a feeling of sinking, abject horror.  No matter how beautiful her Mistress was – and to be clear, she was the prettiest and sexiest girl who’d ever walked the _planet_ – there was no question she was in bad shape.

Her face was bloodied and bruised, with one eye swollen and leaking pus.  She was moving with a pronounced limp, thanks to a bad gash on her left leg, and her abdomen looked like several ribs had cracked.  And worst of all…

Tears leaked from Kirika’s eyes, dampening her patch.  Her Mistress’ right arm was _gone._   In its place was a bloody, bandaged stump, the wrappings clearly applied hurriedly and haphazardly.

“M…Mistress…” said Kirika, in a voice that sounded like it could break at any moment.  “This…This is all my fault.  Fer bein’ tricked…”

But the silver-haired girl placed a swollen finger over her partner’s lips.

“ _Shhhhhh_ …” she whispered, now delicately stroking the surrounding skin.  “You did nothing wrong, my dearest.  That heartless girl took advantage of your loyalty to me.  Something for which you should feel _no_ shame.”

Kirika went stiff as a board, feeling an intense sensation of _wrongness_ climb up her spine.  The worst possible thing had just happened.

She’d failed… _miserably._   Her Mistress had been the one to _pay_ for that failure.  And yet, in her infinite kindness and generosity, she’d chosen…to _forgive_ her.

“No.  No no no no no no _no_ …” murmured Kirika, shrinking back and clutching at herself.  “I need ta be punished, Mistress.  An’…An’ not like when we’re havin’ fun.  I need ta suffer, the way _you_ suffered.”

There was only one choice.  It was obvious, now that she thought of it.  She summoned the claws to her left hand, and raised them to the shoulder on her right.

“Kirika, _stop!_ ” her Mistress commanded, just before she could slice down.

Her hand stopped in midair.  Not only because her lover’s voice was so much more forceful and decisive than usual…

But because that was the first time in over a month that she’d used her real name.

Her Mistress sighed, and pulled her into an awkward, one-harmed hug.  Kirika melted into it nevertheless.

“First of all, you might as well go back to calling me Oriko,” she said.  “This mess has left our cover in tatters.  So much for precautions and contingencies.”

Naturally, this news only made her partner feel _worse._   When she saw this, Oriko cupped her cheeks with both hands, placing her lips mere centimeters from Kirika’s own.

“I _told_ you, Kirika.  This is Sasa Yuki’s fault, _not_ yours,” she went on, her tones tender and her touches gentle.  “But if you truly feel you need to atone…then do as you’ve always done.  Be my sword, and my shield.  I will need you more than ever in the days ahead.  Especially with the end of the month approaching so swiftly.”

She followed the words with a brief, but affectionate kiss.

“My…My Oriko…” Kirika gasped out, between spasms of pleasure.  _Any_ contact with her beloved Mistress was liable to leave her weak at the knees.  “Ya’d really…trus’ me again?  After I fucked up so bad?”

“My dearest Kirika.  You’re the only one I know I _can_ trust,” answered the silver-haired girl.  “But after today, Akemi will be watching our moves like a hawk.  She’d be a fool not to.  So we _need_ to move quickly.”

Kirika nodded immediately.  “O’ course, o’ course.  Ya got it,” she said, though her enthusiasm was belied by the tooth chewing against her lip.  “But…shouldn’t we get ya some help first?”

Her lover waved off the question, though it was acutely conspicuous that she was doing so with her only remaining hand.

“I can heal most of this once I recharge my magic.  Though the arm may be a lost cause,” explained Oriko.  “For that, we need more Grief Cubes – and in a world without Wraiths, we can’t harvest more.  Sasa Yuki made off with our entire stock, which means we’ll need to be more… _creative._   That’s where our new ally comes in.”

She rapped her knuckles against the door of a nearby stall, and added, “You can come out now, Nagisa-chan.”

A moment later, the door unlatched, and a very small girl emerged before them.  She couldn’t have been older than eight or nine.

“You heard everything we just said, right?” asked Oriko, her voice just a little bit higher than normal.  Unlike Sasa Yuki, most of the sweetness in her tone _was_ natural, but Kirika could tell just how much of it was effected.  “Are you ready to punish those mean girls who took your big sis away from you?”

The girl tugged on her long, stark-white hair, and didn’t meet their eyes.  Her own were very strange, with orange rims surrounding yellow irises.

Ultimately, though, she gave a couple quiet nods.  “If it means I can save Onee-san…” she said, in a voice that was just as tiny.  “Then I’ll do anything.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Homura Akemi and Suzune Amano stood at an impasse, both glaring unblinkingly at the other.

“You know that there’re at least ten ways I could kill you in the next half-second, if I chose,” Homura remarked, in the same way other people might talk about their options for dinner.

“Oh, I’m well aware I stand no chance against you in a direct confrontation,” replied Suzune.  “But in the time it’ll take you to reach me, I can send a single ‘jolt’ through this poor girl’s psyche.  Since I won’t have time to direct it, the magic could really do anything.  Maybe it’ll have no effect.  Or…maybe it’ll brute-force itself through all the locks shackling her mind.  Maybe she’ll remember _everything._ ”

The silver-haired girl tightened her grip on the blade.  “I can tell you think I’m bluffing,” she added, narrowing her eyes.  “But are you willing to call me on it?”

There was a lengthy period of silence, as both of the superpowered girls stared down the other.  It reminded Madoka of a showdown, from those Hollywood Westerns her mother liked so much.

The only question was who would “draw” first.

Finally, Homura said, “What is it that you want?”

“Safe passage from this place.  I’m not arrogant enough to ask for more than that,” answered Suzune promptly.  “Oh, and I’m taking Tomoe and Sakura with me.”

Sakura?  Madoka glanced around wildly, and for the first time looked properly through the hole the girls had blasted from the adjacent classroom.  Lying on the floor, apparently unconscious…was indeed Kyoko Sakura.

“No, you _won’t._   They’re staying,” snapped Homura, forcing Madoka’s eyes back to the confrontation.  The sheer vehemence in her voice was somewhat surprising; she knew Homura wasn’t immensely fond of either girl.

But it seemed kidnapping by a hostile swordswoman was a step too far, even for her.

“With the states their minds are in right now?  I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Suzune told her.  “I’ve wiped away just about _all_ of Mami Tomoe’s memories.  And I’m halfway through doing the same to Kyoko Sakura.”

“Let me worry about that,” said Homura.  “And as for you?  I’ll be generous…and offer a ten-minute head start.”

Suzune gritted her teeth in indignation, but the look in her eyes made it clear she was considering this seriously.

Then, still without breaking eye contact, she asked, “Will you Bind yourself to that?  Ten minutes without pursuit, _or_ tracking?  For myself and Matsuri?”

“For the person you _call_ Matsuri Hinata, yes,” responded Homura, who now looked just as irate as her opponent.  Madoka got the vague sense Suzune’s demands contained a double meaning she wasn’t getting.  “So long as you release Madoka, and Bind yourself in turn not to use magic upon her, now or at any future time…”

Homura lowered her arm, and instantaneously, the atmosphere in the room grew noticeably calmer.  Madoka realized she must’ve been gathering power this entire time.

“Then you have yourself a Contract.”

 

[--------------------]

 

Some distance away, Sasa Yuki lay across a park bench, her feet kicked up and drumming against the slats in off-beat rhythm.

She was not very happy right now.

“Why the fuck didn’t you _warn_ me that my magic wouldn’t work on her?” she demanded, apparently to the empty air.

The other participant in the conversation didn’t “say” anything in return, since they were communicating telepathically.  Strictly speaking, there wasn’t any reason for Sasa to vocalize her half of the dialogue, either, but she was too mad to care.

“Well…yeah, okay, _fine._   I _guess_ that’s a good point,” she said, after a little while.  “The hell am I supposed to do now, though?  I blew all my goddamn resources on this stupid fight, and we got our asses served to us with a side of miso.”

Another period of silence, this one much longer.  Sasa had to occupy herself by making nasty faces and tossing pebbles at nearby grade-schoolers to scare them away, as she listened to the voice in her head drone on and on.

Eventually, however, the voice offered a suggestion that brought her signature, obnoxiously cruel smirk back to her face.

That was the moment a certain individual emerged from the nearby bushes, moving with the stealth and swiftness of a ninja.

“Matsuri, I’m so sorry for failing you,” murmured Suzune Amano, her head hung low as she dissipated her Magical Girl form.  “All I could buy us was a small window of reprieve.  And gaining it cost me any chance of using Madoka Kaname as leverage in the future.”

“ _Pffffft._   Sure, today was a fuck-up, but it was small potatoes.  Don’t worry about it, girl,” Sasa told her servant, sounding remarkably at ease for someone who’d been throwing a temper tantrum only a few minutes prior.  “Our mysterious… _benefactor_ just gave us a hot tip.  One we’re gonna be jumping on like flies on shit.”

“I…I’m glad to hear it,” said Suzune.  “But I only bought us ten minutes, and it took three of them to get here.  If we’re moving, then we need to move n…”

But Sasa silenced her the quickest way she knew how – with a deep and forceful kiss.  For good measure, she also snaked a hand underneath the other girl’s shirt.

“Hush now,” she cooed, a predatory leer upon her face as she pulled back just a few centimeters, holding Suzune’s gaze all the while.  Despite the difference in their heights, there was no question who was currently in control.  “Let your darling Matsuri worry about all those awful nasty things.  See, do you know where we went wrong today?”

“I…I mean, I didn’t…” stammered Suzune, blushing furiously as the hand worked its way beneath her bra.

“Oh no, that’s the thing!  It’s nothing _you_ did!” exclaimed Sasa, cutting her off.  “We simply went in too soon.  I thought four girls – if you count that moron Kure – would be enough to take down Akemi.  I underestimated her.  She’s not going to fall to any single team, no matter how powerful.  If we want to topple her from her throne…we need an _army._ ”

She paused a moment to giggle, a maniacal and discordant sound.

“And it just so happens…now I know where I can start _building_ one,” she continued on, still mauling at the other girl’s body.  The sense of control it gave her, especially after her earlier failure, was _exhilarating._   “So pack your bags, my sweet Suzune.  We’re going to Asunaro City.”

 

[--------------------]

 

As the only other able-bodied girl in the room, Madoka had been conscripted by Homura into helping her clean up.

Of course, she’d been reluctant to leave Sayaka’s side for even a moment, given the condition she was in.  She only relented when Homura forcibly pulled her aside and yanked away the bloodstained blouse.

Only to reveal that beneath it, Sayaka’s wounds had completely closed up.

“Her magic is healing.  It must’ve activated subconsciously to save her life,” said Homura.

Madoka’s mouth fell open, her brain briefly short-circuiting at all this implied.  “Then…Then you mean…” she gasped.  “Sayaka was…”

“We don’t have _time_ for this Madoka,” the raven-haired girl interrupted her.  “We need to move these three someplace safe, _before_ we attract unwanted attention.”

Throughout all this, Homura had been steadfastly avoiding eye contact, and her face was very red.  It took Madoka a few moments to realize she was still half-naked, at which point her own cheeks turned the very same shade.

Trying to ignore how unbelievably embarrassing this was now that the action had died down, Madoka buried herself in following her friend’s instructions.  They worked together to drag all three girls – Sayaka and Mami-senpai in this room, and Kyoko in the other – toward the hole Kirika had made in the wall, leading outside.

Mami was the only one still conscious, though barely; still mumbling about “obeying the Voice of God” as she lay recovering from Homura’s last attack.  To simplify things, Homura passed a palm coated with purple energy over her face, and the blonde became still.

Once they were all more-or-less in a single pile, Homura coated the trio in that same violet light, and like one of those espers in fantasy anime, floated them to the ground below.  They were five floors up, and yet she did it as effortlessly as if she was grabbing food from the top shelf.

Finally, with the three girls deposited safely on the grass, Homura came back for Madoka herself.  Rather than use her powers, though, she swept the pink-haired girl into her arms, with one going beneath her legs and the other supporting her back.

Madoka tried not to think how much this resembled a groom carrying a bride.

After dropping Madoka off, the raven-haired girl disappeared for several moments.  When she returned, she was carrying the top of a boy’s uniform.  Madoka avoided asking where she might’ve gotten it from, too grateful for the chance to cover herself up.  She wrapped the jacket around herself, and attempted to ignore the fact that it fit perfectly over her figure.

(Or lack thereof.)

It was only after Madoka was fully buttoned up that Homura allowed herself to collapse against a nearby tree, her eyes fluttering closed.  She was clearly exhausted.

But Madoka couldn’t wait any longer to address what’d just happened.

“Homura-chan…” she said, her voice catching slightly.  “I…I don’t even know where to begin…”

The other girl, however, cut her off – by clasping her hand between both of her own.

“Madoka, I’m sure you have a million questions.  And you deserve answers to them,” she murmured.  Her voice seemed…unaccountably _sad._   “But there’s so much I…I _can’t_ tell you.  And that’s my fault, not yours.  _My_ burden…not yours.”

The pink-haired girl thought quite a lot about what she was going to say to this.  In the face of all she’d just seen, all she’d just _heard._   Secrets those girls had hinted Homura was keeping.

Secrets they’d made fairly clear were about _her._

But the response she ended up giving was, “Okay.”

“O…Okay…?” repeated Homura, blinking away tears that’d begun to form in her indigo eyes.  Her tone was one of utter disbelief.

“I know you’re hiding things from me.  Big things.  If that girl with the sword was telling the truth…then you’ve even been messing with my _mind,_ ” said Madoka.  “I should probably be _furious_ with you.  But…I’m not.  Because I trust you, Homura-chan.  Because I think I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

“Madoka…” Homura breathed out, looking askance.

And there it was.  In that moment, something changed.  Madoka was overcome by an impulse that was stupid, and foolish, and made absolutely no logical sense.

An impulse that she, nevertheless, had no power to refuse.

“Homura-chan…this is probably the worst time ever for this.  I don’t even know _why_ I’m saying this to you.  Except that I don’t think I can keep it inside one second more,” she rambled.  “Maybe it’s because…you just saved my life.  Saved _our_ lives.  And that’s only made me surer of how I feel.”

“What’re you talking about, Madoka?” asked Homura.  The words came out incredibly quiet.

For just a moment – well, honestly, it was quite a _few_ moments – Madoka considered backing out.  She hadn’t yet said anything she couldn’t take back, and any lingering weirdness could be blamed on their near-death experience.  She could still salvage their friendship, just as it was.

But…was she even _capable_ of holding onto such a thing, anymore?  She thought back to the words of encouragement her father had offered her.  Those of Doctor Tenjou, and even Sayaka.

Right now, she felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down uinto an endless abyss.  Maybe the smartest move would be to back away, and pretend as if she’d never seen it.

And yet she knew deep-down that if she did, she’d spend every last moment of her life second-guessing the decision.  Once that abyss entered her mind, it was impossible to make it go away.  It would haunt her to her dying breath.

It was no longer a question of whether it was a good idea to confess what was in her heart.

It was simply that she couldn’t live with herself any longer if she _didn’t._

Madoka sucked in a great deal of air, and then took the final step.  Plunging headfirst into the abyss below.

“This…” she said, and for the first time in a while, her voice was no longer shaking.  “Is how I _really_ feel.”

Then she leaned over, and kissed Homura Akemi on the lips.

 

[--------------------]

 

Several moments passed before Homura’s brain caught up enough to entertain a single coherent thought.

Albeit, that thought amounted to little more than a giant, red “!” symbol.

Her mind simply lacked any frame of reference to contextualize what’d just happened.

Madoka had kissed her.

Madoka had _kissed_ her.

 _Madoka_ had kissed _her._

Such a thing was so utterly laughable, that the most diligent planner in all of time and space had never even _considered_ a contingency for it.  What would be the point?

Sure, images not entirely unlike this one might’ve occasionally flitted through her mind… _late at night_ (though in those cases, it was rare the images _stopped_ at kissing).  But that was just harmless fantasizing.

Well… _mostly_ harmless.

The point was, this simply wasn’t a thing that _happened_ in reality.  Magic and monsters?  Sure.  Aliens preying upon innocent girls?  Of course.  Traversing space and time?  At this point, it was as natural to her as walking to the corner store.

But across nearly a hundred time flows, thousands of repeated days and nights, _this_ was a moment utterly without precedence.  There was a natural order to these things: _she_ was the one meant to love Madoka from afar, holdings those feelings tight to her chest, _knowing_ they could never be realized.  That they were doomed simply by the nature of who each of them were.

Sure, this timeline had been a conscious effort to _break_ that cycle – but only in some ways.  The crimes she’d had to commit in order to realize it were beyond countenance.

Beyond forgiveness.

She _knew_ how this was supposed to go.  No matter how long she tried to put it off, eventually, Madoka _would_ realize the truth.  It was inevitable.  The girl she loved was a bit naïve, sure, but she _wasn’t_ stupid.

And at that point, the _only_ logical response on Madoka’s part would be to regard her with hatred.  Homura knew that would hurt, of course.  But then…she _deserved_ to hurt, to suffer for her innumerable sins, so that worked out just fine.

So long as Madoka could then move on – to live a long and happy life, in the arms of her friends and family – it’d all be worth it in the end.

But while she’d expected hatred, or at best indifference; made her peace with what was to come, once Madoka learned what a monster she truly was…

This was the one thing she _never_ could’ve expected.

The one thing she could never _accept._

Tears filling her eyes, Homura pulled away.

“H…Homura-chan…?” said Madoka, her lip quivering.  The sudden, uncharacteristic burst of self-assurance had faded as quickly as it came.  “Was…Was it that bad?  I mean…I know I didn’t ask for your permission, or anything… _god_ I’m an idiot…”

“Madoka, it…it isn’t that…” Homura struggled to respond, but the words wouldn’t come.  They couldn’t.

She wouldn’t be able to control herself for much longer.  She was about to explode.

“Homura-chan!” Madoka cried out, stretching out an arm for her as she fled at breakneck speed.

But by that time, she was already gone.  To a place Madoka couldn’t possibly reach.

 

[--------------------]

 

Homura Akemi sat in the midst of a vast clearing, her legs pulled up and clutched tightly to her chest.

Her wings drooped across the ground, barely able even to lift themselves – much less her entire body.

Here, of course, she cast no illusion.  This was a world of her own making, after all.  A small pocket of space and time where, for the briefest of moments, she didn’t have to pretend to be anything but what she was.

From the ever-present darkness of the storm clouds above, always on the verge of but never quite releasing their torrents of rain, to the thousands of blood-red spider lilies that stretched beneath her, as far as the eye could see…

This was Hell.  The only refuge that the Devil deserved.

For several minutes now – to the degree a concept like “minutes” even _existed_ in a place like this – a small, mewling sound had been accompanied by light tugs on her silken hair.  Losing patience, she rounded on the offender.

One of her innumerable Clara Dolls was looking up at her expectantly.  Awaiting orders.

Since she’d commanded her Familiars to stay away from Madoka, they’d obeyed unquestioningly; they were, after all, incapable of doing otherwise.  Here, then, was the only place they could still beseech their Mother.

They couldn’t speak, at least in the human tongue, but of course Homura – as the source of their Curse – could understand the Doll’s chatter perfectly.

It was bidding her to follow, and she did.

She knew, before she arrived, exactly what she would find.  There were very few beings, across all of reality, who could even _exist_ on such a plane.

Homura looked down, without pity, at the writhing form of an Incubator.

**HO…MU…RA…**

**A…KEM…I…**

It was the very same voice – sweet, cute, almost disarmingly so – that had spoken so many honeyed but twisted words in the past.  That’d haunted her nightmares with its cold, clinical precision.

Except that, despite its inability to convey emotional tone, one thing was very clear about the creature now.

That it was in _terrifying_ agony.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Homura sharply.  She felt _nothing_ inside for this monster – the callous manipulator and ruiner of countless girls’ lives, since the very beginning of the human race.  “You brought this on yourself.  This is just a _taste_ of what you’ve spent several million years inflicting on us.”

The Incubator looked up at her, its fur frazzled and mangy.  At first glance, its eyes were as blank and expressionless as always.

But if one looked more carefully, they could see that the creature’s pupils were no longer a solid, static black.  Instead, they swam with the barest hints of a thousand other colors.

Of all the possible shades a Magical Girl’s despair could take.

This’d been the only way to remove Madoka from the Law of Cycles, _without_ negating her original Wish.  It was impossible for Witches to exist in this world – and just as impossible for the Wraiths that should’ve been their substitutes.  But all that accumulated despair still had to go _somewhere._

Using the Incubators as a “pressure valve” for the system killed two birds with one stone.

“Now, what is it that you want?” she demanded, glaring at the creature testily.  “Even in this state, you _never_ do anything without a reason.  So why go through the effort to call me here?”

**WHY…DID…YOU…**

**RUN…A…WAY…FROM…**

**MA…DO…KA…**

**KA…NA…ME…?**

Homura lifted a black-heeled foot, and drove it sharply into the Incubator’s back.

“I’ve told you before,” she said, through gritted teeth.  “You don’t even _mention_ her name!  You no longer have the right!”

**BUT…**

**WE…DO…NOT…**

**UN…DER…STAND…**

**WAS…SHE…NOT…**

**YOUR…GREAT…EST…**

**HOPE…?**

“I…I don’t have to explain a _thing_ to you!” roared the Devil, aiming a kick at the wretched thing.  It flew a great distance, landing square in the midst of a grove of lilies.

And yet, she couldn’t stop her tongue from unloading a veritable tidal wave.  The floodgates around her heart, already full to bursting, had crumbled completely.

“She _can’t,_ okay!” she shouted, tears streaming madly down her face.  “She…can’t… _love_ me!  Don’t you see?  I don’t _deserve_ it!”

She began slashing wildly through the air, barely able to see through the dampness in her clouded eyes.  With every movement of her arms, rumbling energy coursed through the air, causing another cluster of flowers to wither and die.

“I lied!”

“I cheated!”

“I hurt every single person she loves!”

“I’m a _demon!_ ”

Homura was clutching desperately at herself now, clawing at her arms with each gloved finger.  Streaks of blood – no longer crimson, but the deep violet of her magic – appeared whenever she made a mark, but healed over a second later.

“This…This isn’t working…” she murmured, the fervor in her tones dying away completely as she collapsed to her knees.  Her wings curled about herself like a shield.  “I made this world so Madoka could have a happy, normal life.  And it’s _all_ going wrong.”

**THEN…WHAT…**

**WILL…YOU…DO…NEXT…**

**HO…MU…RA…**

**A…KEM…I…?**

“I…don’t know,” Homura admitted, her voice barely above a whisper now.  “But I’m running out of time to figure that out.”

And with that, her form as the Devil of this realm – as the embodiment of that which was warmer than hope, and deeper than despair – faded away.  Prepared, if not exactly _ready,_ to resume the fiction that she was but an ordinary girl, dwelling amidst the world above.

Instead of its architect.

In her haste to leave, she didn’t hear the very last words the Incubator spoke.

 **IN…DEED…**  
  
**HO…MU…RA…**

**A…KEM…I…**

If one were to look into the creature’s eyes at that point, the very slightest of changes might’ve been visible.  There was a gleam of something there _beyond_ despair – though a moment later, it’d faded from view once more.

**AF…TER…ALL…**

**BUT…THREE…DAYS…**

**RE…MAIN…**

**UN…TIL…**

**THE…NIGHT…OF…**

**WAL…**

**PUR…**

**GIS…**

 

[--------------------]

 

_The story will continue in…_

 

**Puella Magi Madoka Magica**

 

“Les Fleurs du Mal”


End file.
